


Running on the Music and Night Highs

by lovelyrhink (crimsonwinter)



Category: Rhett & Link, Rhett and Link
Genre: AU, Drug Use, Fake Relationship, M/M, Pining, Real Person Slash - Freeform, Rockband AU, Rockstar AU, alcohol use, randl, real person fiction - Freeform, rhett and link - Freeform, rhink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-05-28 06:44:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 67,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6318772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonwinter/pseuds/lovelyrhink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somehow, Rhett and Link have risen from small town dreamers to well-known rockstars. With their band, they take on the country, show by show, falling deeper in love with every performance. However, the real question remains - will the strain of a life of fame bring them closer together or leave them hurting more than ever?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I do not claim to know the real people this work is based off, and all facts derived from real life happenings are fictional and meant to be treated as such. This is not meant to convince anyone or prove anything, and it should not be taken seriously, only enjoyed for what it is - a fantasy.
> 
> I will mention that Rhett and Link did have a band called the Wax Paper Dogz, but this band is a fictional extension and probably differs in sound and style (think Fall Out Boy, I mean, this is set in the early 2000s lmao).
> 
> Title comes from the lovely Troye Sivan's [Wild](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3awzvNrKDsg) (the [music video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fdXNNveYOfU) is so teen!rhink). Check out [his other music](https://play.spotify.com/artist/3WGpXCj9YhhfX11TToZcXP) too, as most of it is 100% randl and kills me every time.
> 
> P.S. Follow me on [tumblr](http://lovelyrhink.tumblr.com) for more rhink!
> 
> Also, check out the cover that [rhinkiscute](http://rhinkiscute.tumblr.com) made for this fic [here](http://lovelyrhink.tumblr.com/image/144275695226) and the aesthetic board [mclaughneal](http://mclaughneal.tumblr.com) made for it [here](http://mclaughneal.tumblr.com/post/149908391036/this-was-their-empire-and-they-ruled-over-it-not)!
> 
> **8/30/2017 edit** I'm officially changing the name of this fic to _Run-on Sentences and White Guys_ lmao BYE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They’d been together when they formed their band at the end of college, they were together when they started hitting the charts, and they were still together, now, as they peaked.

Feral. Untamed. Fierce. _Wild._

That’s what Link was like when he sang, when he took the microphone in his hands and swayed beneath the stage lights. He was beautiful, lost in performance. He’d close his eyes and run on the music alone, let the rhythm course through his body and exit his perfect lips. Adopting a light sheen of sweat, he’d glisten in the yellow, pink, blue, and purple glow. He’d knit his brows and fall into the lyrics, moan out to the crowd a ballad of crashing hips, lost loves, and night highs. When he'd open his eyes, the harsh glare and a sea of a thousand lighters flickered in the blue and black, and he worked with it. He’d curl his lips so his sharp, white teeth peeked through, forming around his lyrics, melting, humming, buzzing. He’d roll his hips and push himself away from the mic - his whole body working for him, muscles surging as he danced between verses. Then it’d bring him back up close when he sang once again, pressing intimately close to the metal, lips just barely brushing the mesh. And his voice, _God._ It was made for this, made for this kind of soulful, punk rock wailing. Smooth and deep, it adorned long notes with breaks of sharp consonants. He’d pitch up in a powerful belt, releasing a surging scream from the massive crowd. The singer would then smile, a twitch of pink lips and a flash of white. Maybe he’d slick a hand through his dark hair, wink at one of the girls in the front row. It was a dance, and he knew all the steps. He fed off the audience’s energy, and they gave it willingly. He owned it. He was the king. He was a rockstar.

And to Rhett, lead guitar and backup vocals, Link was all this and more. He was the boy scared by thunder, the mischievous imp who tipped cows and crashed cars. He was the neighborhood kid, the schoolmate, and Rhett’s best friend. They’d grown up together, he and Link. They’d shared everything. They’d met in first grade and went through every school year, every summer, side by side. Their families were close, and they were never one without the other. It was Rhett and Link, Link and Rhett. They saw the same things, knew the same people, and followed the same path. College roommates with the same major, they’d taken on the world. They’d been together when they formed their band at the end of college, they were together when they started hitting the charts, and they were still together, now, as they peaked.

It was 2002, and the Wax Paper Dogz were just the scene’s style. They were known across the realm of punk rock, and their distinct sound had attracted many young fans, all lining up outside of civic centers and stadiums to catch a real life glimpse of the deathly attractive, incredibly talented Link Neal.

But who could blame them? He was wonderful as a performer. He had a balance of sweetness and raunchy sex appeal, and between songs, he’d crack jokes and show off his charm. Yet, as great of a star he was, he was an even better person. A real person, a friend. Yes, Rhett had witnessed Link’s rise to stardom, from a small town kid to a blooming musician, knowing without a doubt, it was where he belonged. Rhett knew that Link had always shone. Though he wasn’t incredibly popular in school, and most often kept score for the sports teams instead of playing on them, there was a fire in him that burst whenever he gave it the chance. And as Rhett had come to know, it was wild. A wild flame.

Rhett would spend most performances playing each song on auto, just watching Link. He’d see this fire, every night, and it was terribly attractive. He loved being onstage, performing, of course, but after the initial rush of the crowd, and after a few songs, he found himself only watching Link. He’d keep his eyes on his friend, his movements, the way he took over the stage, the way he sang. Tonight was no different. It was the third stop on their national tour, in Oakland, California, and Link was on it. His voice was smooth, and his smile was bright. He wore a red comic book shirt, ripped at the sleeves to show off his perfect arms (he was quite the exhibitionist), a blue bandana wrapped ‘round his head in a strip. His short, black hair swept to one side, sticking up just above the bandana, tinting navy in the colored lights. His ripped jean shorts that fell just above his knee were held up by a loose black studded belt, a chain hanging from one side. His sneakers, thick and high-topped black with wing patterns on the sides and white rubber soles, padded around the stage with incredibly grace. He looked amazing, sounded even better, and Rhett was transfixed.

And, while people loved Link, they didn’t ignore Rhett or the other two members of the band. It was just that Link was the frontman, the lead singer. He attracted all the attention. Still, Rhett knew there were a few female (and male) fans who favored _him_ , while some even favored their bassist or drummer. His particular attentions came from screams during his guitar solos, eager-eyed fans outside the stage door after shows, and a few big posters featuring his name. They loved him, and he knew it. So he’d dress himself up, show himself off, take the Dogz’ rock style and make it his own.

Tonight, he adorned black skinny jeans, a grey tank top, and a blue flannel. He left the flannel open, and as he played, sometimes one side slipped down his shoulder. He left it, peeking a bit of his golden skin at the waves of fans. He’d look his best for them. And, to be honest, maybe for Link, too.

Now, Rhett was a smart guy. He knew himself well enough, he knew to stay away from things that made him uncomfortable and to chase the things that made him feel good. Link made him feel good. Link was his anchor, his history, and his memories. He was his past, his story, and, as it happened, Rhett had fallen completely in love with him somewhere along its creation.

He didn’t know exactly when it happened, it wasn’t a snap thing. There was no waking up in the middle of the night in a hot sweat, no powerful realization. It was just the way it was. One day, they were best friends, and the next, Rhett knew he loved him. He always had. Perhaps it’d happened when they were little, running around town and sneaking into abandoned houses. Or maybe it was much later - prom night in high school.

No matter when or how it happened, he knew that one of the most prominent and recognizable changes had been in the form of his dreams. He always dreamt of Link, from a young age. But they’d changed. They’d changed from climbing rocks and smiling into each other’s eyes to desperate, romantic touches. In Rhett’s mind, they’d spend their days together, kissing and laying in each other’s arms, going all the places people said lovers would go. They’d make his hopeless romantic heart hurt, but he still went to bed every night, hoping the phantom love would come again.

As he got older, passed through puberty, and discovered the culture of sex, his dreams became erotic. In these, he and Link were just shadows dancing in pleasure, rubbing together in nondescript positions until Rhett awoke in orgasm, panting and sticky. He grew and learned to control it, and his dreams would then bend to his whim. Sometimes, Link would kiss a line from the crease of Rhett’s jaw all the way down his chest and to his cock, where his perfect mouth and warm, wet tongue had Rhett spiraling into the dark. Other times, a seemingly innocent dream of hanging out after school would end with Rhett’s hand on Link’s groin, feeling him swell and harden, watching him writhe under his touch. When Rhett started to figure things out, he’d find that dream Link would crawl up behind him in bed and fuck him gently, pull on his hips and press himself inside him, his mouth at his neck. The next night, Rhett would have Link on his back, sucked tight between his legs, pinning him down with his weight, Link scratching his nails down his back. Rhett would then awake and reach behind himself, hoping to find the raised, reddened lines, some sign that it was real.

Real or not, it was there. Romantic, sexual, and everything in between, it was there, for most of his life. Rhett knew it, too. He felt it, every day. He was aware, and there was no sign his feelings were leaving anytime soon, not through all the years they’d lived.

Unfortunately, Link hadn’t confirmed he felt the same. Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t. It was up in the air, unspoken. There was a chance, definitely, there had to be. They’d known each other too long, they’d spent too many years flirting. And Link had definitely flirted. Blatantly teasing, touching. Rhett wasn’t oblivious, he could see it. Too, it was how he acted, how he went about their relationship. They were best friends, brothers, but there was something else. Tension. This tension only worsened as they were reminded, every day, that two boys couldn’t and shouldn’t love each other the way Rhett loved Link. And this had Link different, colder. Link would sometimes tell him, around other people, mostly, not to touch him too much. Not to stand so close, say anything “like that.” It was a barrier, shaped by the world they grew up in and what they held to be truths.

Still, barriers often break. And as they went along in their new rockstar lives, the edges of it seemed to bend. Not crumble, but bend. Rhett knew that Link felt more himself after a good show, as he glowed with performance energy. He’d appreciate Rhett, thank him for sticking by him. He’d say they were a team, that all four of them made the band great, due in no small part to Rhett. He’d beam, smiling so much, and remind Rhett every day why they did what they did.

And, after the show, when they’d take up a hotel room and bring their friends in (and a few lucky fans), they’d break out the drugs and alcohol, turn on the colored lights, and just enjoy themselves. Link would open up, welcome those previously unwanted touches. It was a zone of _okay,_ away from home, away from judgement. They’d take these moments greedily, and it went unspoken between them that as soon as the lights went down, the zone bloomed. Sometimes they’d slump against each other on the couch, share a joint, tip their heads back and husk out the smoke in a cloud of laughter. Sometimes their legs would tangle, their arms would fit comfortably between their bodies. They’d allow themselves to be close, to almost be more than best friends, more than brothers. It wasn’t much, but it was something, and Rhett took all he could take.

Of course, he knew the boundaries. He wasn’t going to smother Link or demand anything from him that Link couldn’t give him. They had never kissed or done anything explicitly past platonic, and Rhett was almost afraid to try. There was a basis of friendship between them, and that was more important than anything. At the core, they were friends. He didn’t want to ruin it, complicate things. Now, that didn’t mean Rhett couldn’t wish for more, hold his breath and count all the times Link’s eyes lingered a bit too long, the nights in which his drunken words got a bit too loving.

And God, did he wish for more. Rhett wanted everything. He had it, mostly, he shared his entire life with Link, and it was enough - more than enough - but they hadn’t yet crossed the line. He wanted to be with Link, be able to tell their fans, the world, that they were together. They weren’t just “close friends.” They were… Whatever the hell came after that. Whatever the hell Rhett’s dreams implied. Romantic, sexual, spiritual - whatever. Rhett wanted it. But he would never force it. He would _never._ No matter how drunk or high Link was, laying his head in his lap, twining his fingers in Rhett’s beard, Rhett _wouldn’t._ And besides, most of the time, he was sure Link just played it up a bit, let the drugs flirt for him. He could never be sure it was how he really felt, how he felt sober. He had ideas, inklings, and hopes, but he couldn’t know for certain.

Sometimes, when it got to be too much, Rhett would call his brother. He and Cole had their differences, but as they grew up, they realized a phone call every now and then wouldn’t hurt. And every time Rhett did, he went through the same points - how the band was doing, how he was doing, and how Link was doing. He always talked about Link the longest, but his older brother didn’t seem to mind. He knew how important Link was to him, hell, it was like Link was half of him, integral to his life. Rhett could be independent, he wasn’t so smitten he’d cease to function without him, but he didn’t like to think about it. Where Link was, he was. And that meant he had a lot to say.

* * *

The last time he’d called his brother was just before their national tour began. Link had gone out with Jason and Mike, their two other bandmates, for lunch. Rhett said he wanted to look over the set, practice some songs. So they let him be, and as soon as the suite door clicked closed, he rushed to his bedroom to call his brother.

Cole picked up, sounding sleepy, and Rhett went through the motions. He went over how things were going, how he felt about the tour, and that they’d hopefully start a working on a new album soon. When he got to Link, he found himself thinking out loud. “He’s so electric,” Rhett had said. “Watching him perform… It’s like, I know why our band has succeeded as much as it has. He really runs the show.”

“You shouldn’t disregard yourself so much, or Jason and Mike, for that matter. The band is all of you, not just Link.”

“I know, I know. But you know what I mean. He brings that extra something to each show, y’know? We’re all important, it is the four of us, but Link just… God, I don’t even know.”

“I know.”

“You know what’s weird, though?”

“Hm?”

Rhett paused before he continued, unsure how to say it. “Okay, well. We write a lot of love songs, yeah?”

“Yeah?”

“I mean, Link and I write most of the songs, that’s how it’s always been… It’s a mix of a lot of stuff, like not everything is love, but the ones that are… The ones that Link writes… It’s like he’s written them about someone. But whenever I ask him who they’re about, maybe a girl he went steady with in college or something, he says they’re not about anyone. It’s just a song.” He waited again, coiling the phone cord around his finger. “But it doesn’t seem like it’s just a song. The way he sings it.”

“That’s his job, Rhett.”

“But I know him. I know what he’s like when he really feels something. And It seems like he really feels it, y’know? Like he’s singing about someone.”

“Okay, then he probably is.”

“Who, though?”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t, I’m just curious.”

“Right.”

Rhett caught the tone in his brother’s voice, and he called it out, “Hey now, don’t be thinking that, I’m just wondering. I’m part of the band, I gotta know. I feel like I should know.”

“Whatever you say, man.”

“You just don’t get it, you’re not a musician.”

“Oh God,” Cole groaned, “Don’t be pulling that shit on me.”

“What shit?”

“That shit. Y’know, you can write as many albums as you want, tour as much as you want, fuck as many groupies -“

“Hey!”

“-as you want. But don’t you be pulling that snooty rockstar shit on me. You’re still just a kid, you’re still my little brother. You’re still that tall guy with the bad back and the thirst for conspiracy theories.”

Rhett was silent.

“Just… Don’t let it get to your head, okay? You’re pretty popular now. Don’t be making a mess of it.”

“I won’t.”

“And that means Link, too.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.”

Again, Rhett hesitated. He did know what Cole meant. He knew _exactly_ what he meant. “Right, well, I won’t. Anyway, I gotta go, the Dogz are coming back soon, and I told them I was working. Good talking to you, brother.”

“You too.”

Rhett hung up and stared at the phone. _Don’t be making a mess of it,_ Cole had said.

“Easier said than done,” Rhett muttered, leaving the bedroom and crossing the suite to find his guitar. He took it by the neck and sat on the couch, practicing a few songs, so that by the time the front door opened, he was back to the work, back to the music.

* * *

That phone call had been the last time Rhett had really talked about Link to anyone. Now, on tour, he didn’t find it necessary to gush about him. Whoever was there had seen how he’d been onstage, they didn’t need a starry-eyed best friend to recount every detail.

So Rhett was left to play at his side, watch him perform, and service the screaming fans with whatever songs they featured. The Wax Paper Dogz only had two albums out so far. The first was okay, it was pretty angsty. Some of the hardcore fans really liked it, others tolerated it, a few really despised it. Those earlier songs were what they’d played in bars, a few gigs here and there, racking up a bit of an audience, but not enough to send them off. For two years, they played those same songs, along with a mix of singles released as they wrote them. Those went on the second album, their true debut. It had almost twenty songs on it, ranging from party anthems to soulful ballads to some that really made no sense at all but were great in headphones when you wanted to block out the world. Spread over a series of styles, from grunge to acoustic, the songs caught the attention of a bigger group, the younger generation, and by the time the album had been out for a little under a year, they’d signed a contract and switched from touring around the state to touring the country. They were really starting to make it, and it was a process. Still, through it all, Rhett loved Link just as fiercely.

He loved him when the lights came on and they first saw the sea of fans, he loved him when the stage went black and they left the platforms in the dark, and he loved him afterwards, running into him backstage and congratulating him on a great show. That’s where we pick up, here and now, backstage.

Mike and the provided crew helped pack up the drums, Jason had disappeared somewhere, probably greeting the fans that had lined up outside the stage door, and the rest of the workers went about taking down the set and lights. Rhett and Link were left to stay out of the way, not even allowed to linger in the wings. As the crew bustled and worked and the excited screams of fans simmered into a hum of contentment, Rhett left the stage like a tall, dark shadow. He walked quickly towards the exit, galloped down the stairs, and pushed outside. The cold night air cooled his hot skin, and he took his time in moving to the van to put his guitar away. The stars were out, the wind was crisp, and he reveled in it. The arena had been stuffy with smoke, sweat, and body heat, and he lifted his shirt to air out his stomach. He then took a moment to ground himself, remember where he was and what he was doing. He leaned against the painted doors of the van, eyes at the dark heavens.

* * *

Inside the building, Link was just coming down from the high of performing. He loved it, he really did. People had always told him in school that it didn’t matter if he wasn’t on top then, he would be someday. They were right. He was right here, at the top, and there was nowhere to go but up. He was only twenty four, soon to be twenty five, and he was becoming a serious musician, an icon. It felt amazing. He was doing what he loved, beside the man he loved. It was the best life you could ask for.

Said man, as he looked now, was nowhere to be found. Link shifted his bandana, wiped his damp forehead with the back of his arm, and peered around the dark stretch backstage. Mike pushed through the back door at the other end, revealing a surge of feminine screams and a rush of cold air. Link caught a glimpse of Jason signing a few t-shirts and tickets before Mike joined him and the door slammed shut. Link sighed and stretched his long arms high above his head. He rolled his neck and blinked the grit out of his eyes. He took a moment to think, about to set off and find Rhett, when the double doors at his right opened.

Turning, he found his best friend climbing the stairs up to the stage as the doors closed. He looked good. Of course he did. He always looked good.

His blue flannel parted around his tight abdomen as he walked, revealing a bit of shoulder and a lot of clavicle. He smiled, cheeks balling up like they so often did. He slicked a hand through his amber, dirty-blond hair that went up like a flame, and moved his nimble fingers down to scratch his beard. Link was drawn to him, as he had been his whole life, and moved to meet him at the top of the stairs. Rhett towered over him, tall and handsome, and looked down. It was dark backstage, and Rhett’s grey-green irises were just slivers of color around his blown pupils. He was smiling, and it was beautiful.

They always met each other backstage after a show, even if they didn’t have to. They checked in with each other, asking how the show went. It kept them grounded, friendly. They both needed that memory, that familiar comfort, especially after the rush of performing.

Now, Link looked up at Rhett, a bit lost in his eyes, smiling stupidly, as Rhett spoke to him.

“Hey, buddy,” he said.

“Hey.”

“Great show tonight.”

“Yeah, it really was.”

Rhett licked his lips. “How do you feel?”

Link followed the motion with his eyes, lingering his gaze a bit too long on that soft pink bottom lip. “Good. Pretty pumped up.”

“You wanna hang out tonight?”

Link’s body went hot and tingly. Rhett asking him that was like someone asking him if he wanted warm, homemade soup after living off glop and breadcrumbs for months. Spending time with Rhett was like coming home. “Of course.”

“Cool.”

And then Rhett was looking at him in a way Link had never seen. It was more open, unafraid. His eyes were sparkling in the dark, his lips were pulled into a soft smile, and he didn’t look away, even going so far as letting his gaze drop to Link’s mouth, or damn near close. When he spoke again, it was absentminded and distant, and Rhett even repeated himself, like he couldn’t care less about what he was really saying. “Cool…”

Link cocked his head in confusion, knitting his brows as a wide smile spread across his face. Rhett smiled wider in response, and it felt different.

Something was different. Something was starting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know RandL are twenty five in this, but they have current RandL's hair because I do what I want lmao.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy the ride!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was something calming and intimate about sharing a joint, Link found, which was one of the reasons why he liked to smoke with Rhett as much as he did.

A few nights after the Oakland show, the Dogz caught a break, and they decided to celebrate, as rockstars often do. Mike and Jason joked and swore that any girls they invited would be legal, to which Link just rolled his eyes and waved them off. “Do whatever you want,” he’d said.

And so they did. They rented out a penthouse by the beach for one night, knowing that the next day they could be as hungover as they wanted, as they’d just be taking the tour bus to the next location. Mike seemed especially pleased about this, as he told Rhett, Link, and Jason that he was just going to “go crazy” and “sleep it off.” Again, Link told him to do whatever he wanted, following it with a shrug and some vague hypothesis about what he, himself, was to do later that night.

“Just enjoy yourself, Link,” Rhett had said as they leaned down to tuck away all of the penthouse’s expensive vases into cupboards. “You deserve it.”

Link nodded, unfocused and distant. “Yeah, maybe.”

Now, in the time since Oakland, Link had spent most of his time offstage thinking. The look Rhett had given him backstage was something he’d only seen a few times before in passing, this time in full. It wasn’t exactly friendly, but it wasn’t directly lustful, either. It was like Rhett had given him a sign, just a peek, that something might happen. And, in all honesty, Link wanted it to. He had always wanted it to.

As they grew, Link found that he liked Rhett more than anyone else, more than what he probably should. Like Rhett, he went about it like they were best friends, brothers, even. They were close, and everyone knew it, including him. What they didn’t know, at least Link hoped they didn’t, was that Link was desperately in love with him. It took him a while to figure it out, actually, as it was always a nagging reminder of _I can’t. I can’t fall in love with him, I can’t do that to him. I can’t complicate something so simple, so good._ So he didn’t let himself. He didn’t let himself feel what he did, show it as much as he wanted to. He told Rhett not to touch him too much, even though every brush of fingers had his skin prickling with heat. He told Rhett time and time again that he loved him like a brother, though he was sure brothers didn’t usually wish for more as they slept on separate sides of a hotel bed. It took him more than a decade to really admit that what he felt was more than familial, and it took another few years to accept it. When he finally did, it was the easiest thing in the world. Through all the confusion and mess of their years together, Link finally boiled it down to one simple fact - it was Rhett. It was always Rhett. Rhett was Rhett, and everything he felt towards him was okay. It was okay that he never went crazy over girls like Rhett did, since he only really felt crazy about Rhett. It was okay that he wasn’t as much into sex as everyone else seemed to be, because at night, in his dreams, he was for Rhett. All of the butterflies in his stomach, the heat in his cheeks, and the love in his heart were all for his best friend, his bandmate. And so he lived peacefully with this truth, even though he kept it deep within himself. He didn’t show it, mention it, or otherwise outwardly express it, but at least he knew what it meant. He may have been terrified of it for a time, afraid of making Rhett uncomfortable, perhaps even of rejection, but he wasn’t afraid anymore. And Link liked not being afraid. He liked finding comfort in being onstage with him, in touring with him. He’d sit and watch Rhett play slow, acoustic versions of their songs from across the tour bus, and when Rhett looked up at him, he let himself smile.

So when Rhett gave him that lingering, heated look not five days before, Link thought that maybe, just maybe, something could happen. Maybe there was a chance Rhett wasn’t afraid anymore, either.

* * *

The party wasn’t unlike any they’d had before, which was good. They knew how to throw a good party, and people seemed to like them. They’d turned the house lights low and set out booze and snacks of all variants like they always did, and, like so many times before, people came. Mostly, it was people Mike and Jason knew who lived in the area, as well as a dozen pretty girls they’d found. Rhett and Link didn’t really know too many people, but they did invite some members of the crew that had helped in the last show. In total, it wasn’t too many people, but the added strangers from around the block (most of whom either didn’t recognize or care about the band) brought it up to a steady, social vibe.

The guests padded around the penthouse, going from table to table, doing a shot, picking up a beer, and going back for chips. The place was dark, save for a few colored lights pulsing rainbow spots and streaks around the place, and music (not their own, of course) vibrated through hidden speakers. It was a good time, and as Link made himself a mixed drink, he decided he’d let himself have fun.

Which he usually did, but with Rhett on his mind more than usual, he found it hard to relax completely. He had nothing to be scared of anymore, not really, as Rhett was no stranger. He was familiar, he was home. Still, that didn’t keep Link from darting his eager eyes around the party looking for that unmistakable tall form, anxiety bubbling in his stomach.

He was sipping his drink and talking to some pretty girl, a friend of Jason’s, maybe, when he sensed Rhett enter the room. Rhett had left just as the party started, and now, almost an hour later, he was back, and he _felt_ amazing. His presence was welcome and fun, as it usually was, and Link could feel the ripple of energy as he swept ‘round the floor, between bodies, clapping people on the shoulder and saying hello. Link could tell he felt great, and he was sure he’d make everyone else feel great, too.

Link glanced at him from across the room, at his back, shoulders, and head, as he came to rest before a group of friends. He towered over them, but wasn’t threatening in the slightest. Link watched him throw his head back in a laugh and stretch his arms up, shoulders rolling. Link’s heart fluttered, and he looked away quickly.

The brunette before him went on about some acting job as Link nodded pleasantly along, his mind elsewhere. Internally, he studied how Rhett looked, how he was dressed, even though his eyes were unfocused on the gold pin in the girl’s hair. Rhett was wearing one of his favorite faded grey flannels, a white undershirt, and navy blue jeans. As he stood now, he was leaning against the wall with one arm suavely above his head, legs crossed at the ankles, and Link was deathly envious of whoever he was talking to. Still, he pretended he was listening to what - Mary? Marie? - was saying, trying desperately not to glance back at Rhett.

Luckily, he didn’t have to, as after a few minutes of feigned interest, the man of the hour appeared beside him and saved him. “Excuse me,” he said. “Marianne, right?”

“Yes, oh my gosh, hi Rhett!”

Link watched awkwardly as the struggling actress lit up at the sight of his guitarist and turned towards him, cutting Link out completely.

“Hi.” Rhett gave her his most charming smile, and Link crinkled his nose at it. He then gestured towards Link and said, “Mind if I steal this guy for a sec?”

Cheeks going warm, Link said nothing, and only waited for the girl to release him.

“Oh, of course, sorry! I was just telling him about this upcoming show - oh, never mind. Here, take him.” She gave Link a little shove by the elbow towards Rhett, and Link had to stop himself from running into Rhett’s chest and spilling his drink. “You probably have some band business to work out, I won’t keep you from that.”

“Thank you,” Rhett said, waiting a moment for the guest to turn back and find someone else before he regarded Link. When he did, he dropped his eyes all the way from the top of Link’s head to his shoes, bringing them up again and patting Link on the shoulder. His hand lingered. “I like that shirt on you.”

“Huh?” Link looked down. “Oh. It’s just black.”

“Black looks good on you.”

“Thanks…” Link felt Rhett keep his eyes on him as they started walking back towards the living room, which was a problem because he knew he’d gone pink at the compliment. He tried to hide his guilty cheeks by sipping his drink, silently berating himself for blushing like a silly schoolboy with a crush. He took a longer swig than he intended to as he watched all the people around the place in various stages of partying. The drink was cold and sweet with a sharp bite of alcohol, and Link lowered his cup as he felt it warm up his insides.

Sensing Link’s distracted hesitance, Rhett asked, “What’s up? You feeling okay?”

“Yeah, no, I’m fine. Really.”

“You sure?”

This time, Link really did look up, and he was met with a beautiful crease of concern in Rhett’s strong brow and the sweetest softness in his stormy green eyes. The low light of the house had Rhett’s pupils blown wide, and his amber hair and beard danced with color, shadows playing in the angles of his face. He really was magnificent.

“Yeah,” Link assured him, leaving Rhett’s gaze to admire his shoes. “I’m just thinking.”

“Well, how about we stop thinking for while? Head for the clouds?” Rhett didn’t give Link time to answer as he took Link by the arm and pulled them towards the empty couch in the living room. He flopped onto it and brought Link down beside him, smiling.

He looked so wonderfully happy, his long legs going all over the place as he tried to sit comfortably, that all of Link’s previous hesitance whisked away. Of course he’d have a good time tonight. He was here with Rhett. Rhett was here, looking at him like he had some incredible gift hidden away, and Link was excited. Link set his drink on the living room table and turned towards his bandmate, expectant.

Without saying anything else, Rhett reached into his front pocket and pulled out a long, white joint. Link chuckled at seeing it, as his mind had immediately said, _Damn, that’s fat,_ as soon as it registered. Rhett popped a brow at him, smirked a bit, and set the joint between his fingers, reaching back into his pocket for his lighter. He lifted it to his lips and lit it, and Link watched, transfixed, as Rhett took a long drag. He breathed the smoke deep into his lungs, chest rising, and waited a few seconds before exhaling. The smoke came out his lips in a cloud of silver with tones of purple, yellow, pink, and blue, and dissipated into an invisible wisp of air. Rhett passed it to Link, giving him his cheekiest grin.

Link glanced down at the lit joint as he took it, their fingers brushing.

Truthfully, Link didn’t think he’d ever do drugs, not even weed. Where he and Rhett came from, getting into drugs was like, a _thing._ If you did drugs, you were a druggie, and druggies ruined their bodies and minds and led sad lives. They never wanted that life for themselves, and while they avoided it, they still joked about it. If one of their friends had done something foolish, someone would say, “Are you on drugs?” or “What have you been smoking?” hoping to be slightly offensive. Sometimes they’d even go so far as to point out someone’s red eyes when they were sick and ask them if they were high. Everyone would laugh at the absurdity of it, and later, when they visited the city, they assumed all homeless people on the street had let drugs put them there.

When they were in college, however, they learned that drugs didn’t have to be an uncomfortable joke. They didn’t have to be the start of something bad and the end of something good. They were just… there. And you could do them and feel different, or not do them and feel fine. It didn’t matter. Very few people actually cared if you did them or not, and of the people Rhett and Link met, nobody ever forced them. It was just that one night, at a party like this one, someone passed around a joint and Rhett and Link decided to try it. Side by side, they took what was offered. They weren’t very good at it, not at first, coughing and sputtering and passing it off to someone else quickly. But, after a few more sessions, a few more parties, they got the hang of it. They could take a hit smoothly, puff out a plume of smoke in one easy breath. They knew how much to smoke to feel good, and how long it would last. They knew how to control themselves while high and what vibes had them feeling what way.

Sometimes, it was an adventure high. They’d smoke in the car and drive around at night, blowing smoke out the windows and laughing about whatever meaningless pain or problems they left behind. Other times, they’d smoke by a lake or river, with a bunch of other people, and they’d just sit and look in the water and reflect. They could sit and eat chips and watch television, or they could completely lose themselves at a party and still wake up the next morning feeling fine. It didn’t have to be a big deal, and it didn’t have to be scary. It wasn’t the saddening life-ruiner they thought it would be. In fact, it was actually beneficial.

As songwriters and musicians, Rhett and Link were always looking to be creative and different while staying relatable. And sometimes, getting stoned was just what they needed to open up their minds and regard the world in a different way. They looked down on themselves, in their place in the universe, just as tiny, insignificant specks. Surprisingly, it wasn’t scary or displacing. It was comforting. It was like no matter what they did in life, it wouldn’t be the end of the world, because nothing really mattered. Their actions fell in a long line of mistakes and chances and memories, and in the grand scheme of things, messing up wasn’t that bad. Reflecting in on their lives, their dreams, and their meaning, they were able to really dig deep in the collective psyche, see what people really connected with. People would tell them, too, that their music would get into things that nobody else ever had, sometimes even to the extent of lyrics that made little sense when not in that exact mindset. And, though they’d never admit it to the tabloids, many of those particular songs would come from a night smoking under the stars. To put it plainly, weed really had helped them, and they weren’t strangers to it.

Of course, they stayed away from other drugs, as even the most diligent stoners were hesitant or flat-out against them, but it didn’t change anything. They were good where they were, and once they learned how to drink responsibly, too, it was easy to have a good time.

And Link knew he was going to have a good time tonight. He liked being with Rhett on the couch, with a joint between his fingers. He liked the way the smoke felt in his lungs, and he was ready for it. Lifting Rhett’s joint to his lips, Link took a big drag, maybe even longer than Rhett’s, and looked towards him as he kept the smoke in his chest. Link met Rhett’s wide eyes before he tilted his head back, exposing his long neck, and husked out the smoke. When the last bit curled up from his mouth, he rolled his tongue around his teeth and flicked it out over his lips, earning a hearty chuckle from the man beside him.

“You look good when you do that.” Rhett said, gesturing towards the lit joint.

“I look good in black, I look good when I smoke… Is there ever a time I don’t look good to you?”

This seemed to catch Rhett off guard, but he just laughed. “Well, let’s just say you look good often, okay? That’s all.”

“Hm.” Link shifted against the couch, turning his body towards Rhett and laying one arm over the back of it. “I do try.”

Rhett just rolled his eyes and looked towards the party. Link took the moment to take another hit, this one not as big as the first. He blew the smoke out by turning his face away from Rhett and handed it over. There was something calming and intimate about sharing a joint, Link found, which was one of the reasons why he liked to smoke with Rhett as much as he did.

Rhett waited before he smoked again, as his eyes were still on the people. “What do you think, Link?”

“About what?”

“This party.”

“It’s hardly the first we’ve had, Rhett.”

“I know, but I mean what do you _think_.”

Link looked around. He didn’t see Jason or Mike, and while the place wasn’t completely full, there was a good amount of people standing around and talking, some of them smoking, most of them drinking. There was a cleared space off to the left of the living room which they presented as a makeshift dance floor. There wasn’t anyone dancing on it, but a few people stood around, drinks in hand, chatting. Link tried to zone in on them, figure out what they were saying, but their voices blended into the hum of the party and the low music beneath it.

He felt and heard Rhett take a hit next to him, and Link struggled to find a good answer. “I don’t know,” he said. “It’s not too bad.”

“No, it’s not. It’s pretty nice, actually.”

Link turned and found Rhett smoking again. He looked so hot when he smoked, with his open flannel and his widespread legs. Link thought it might be nice to sit atop those legs, right in his lap, and swoop his hands down into his shirt and around his back, kissing and nipping at that gorgeous neck. He thought about it, then looked away as the thought threatened to show itself between his thighs. He pressed his lips together nervously, and found them dry. He then reached for his drink on the table and took a long sip. He felt Rhett watching him, so he offered it to him.

Rhett let his hand fall on his thigh, the joint elegant between his fingers, one thin coil of grey smoke rising from the end. He took the cup with the other hand and drank. His eyes widened, and when he lowered it, he was licking his lips, “Damn, that’s good. What is it?”

“Not sure. I just threw together what I thought might be good.”

“It’s sweet.” Rhett took another sip.

Link licked his lips, suddenly wondering if it’d taste just as sweet coming from Rhett’s mouth.

Rhett set the cup down on the table and handed Link the joint as he said, “You should have been a bartender or something, Link.”

“Too bad I became a rockstar instead.”

Rhett smiled, his cheeks bunching up like they often did when Link was close to making him laugh. Link raised the joint to his mouth. He closed his lips around the end and breathed in deeply, closing his eyes. He held the smoke in his lungs until it nearly hurt, then he breathed it out as slowly as he could. Rhett was saying something to him, but he missed it. “What?”

“I said I think this tour is going well.”

“Rhett,” Link said, starting to feel slow and tingly. “Stop talking about the band like we’re just… Like we’re…”

Rhett gave him a confused look, and Link didn’t know how to finish his thought, so he just took another hit. When he looked back, Rhett was watching something over Link’s shoulder. Link was about to turn around when he felt two thin arms drape themselves over his shoulders. He kept his eyes on Rhett, unable to fully process what was happening.

“Link!” The owner of the arms said, burying her face in Link’s neck. “You’re my favorite.”

Link held the joint out for Rhett to take and looked at the mess of blonde hair tumbling over his clavicle. He didn’t know what to say, so Rhett said it for him.

“Sorry, who are you?”

The girl lifted her head off Link and pulled him tighter into her arms. “Just a fan. Just someone who loves this guy right here. I just love him, y’know?”

Rhett laughed. “Yeah. I do.”

Link tried to shuffle out of the girl’s arms, but she just slumped forward more, trapping him. He didn’t have the energy or the patience to really bargain with her, and physically pushing her off was not only rude, but difficult. Everything was starting to feel disconnected, like his actions didn’t match up with his intentions by half a second. As if he was watching everything happen from outside a sheet of glass, Link began to grasp the reality shift, feeling as though he lived in a split word. The party was distant, but Rhett was close, and Link settled into the safe comfort of the oncoming high. He knew to trust himself and trust his actions, even if everything moved at two different speeds.

Link regarded the girl draped around him, “You do realize I was talking to someone? In a conversation.”

“I know,” she muttered into his shirt. “Just carry on, don’t mind me.”

He took a slow moment trying to understand what she meant, but failing to, he decided not to dwell on it. She didn’t seem to be going anywhere, nor did she seem to care what Link and Rhett did, so Link just let her drape herself over him. He even moved a bit to be more comfortable in her arms. She snuggled in around him, and while the physical touch was nice enough, Link was eager to get back to Rhett. If he couldn’t have Rhett holding him like his fan was, he could at least smoke with him, talk to him.

When he met Rhett’s eyes, he was taking another drag and giving Link a funny look. Again, this look fell into something Link didn’t know how to explain, and he let it. He let it drift into the unspoken, sinking deeper into his high.

* * *

Link’s eyes were glazed over, just a bit, and he looked comfortable on the couch, in the girl’s arms. She sat behind him, playing with his hair mindlessly, one arm falling down over his shoulder, fingers tapping against his chest. Link looked happy about it, and Rhett was jealous.

He tried to tell the girl to fuck off again, nicely, of course, but she didn’t respond.

Link just shrugged, “Who cares, man. Just be here with me.”

 _Be here with me._ Rhett let the words wash over him, wake him up. “I am here, Link.”

“Good.”

And then Link was moving, the fan around him still attached, until he was closer to Rhett. Rhett passed him the joint again, and Link took two hearty hits, looking sexy as hell as he did, before giving it back. And then, strangely, he was taking Rhett’s free hand and holding it up to his own. With their palms pressed, Link said, “Gosh, your hand is big.” His eyes were wide and he was so fascinated by it that Rhett couldn’t help but laugh. This made Link look at him and tell him to quit it, even swatting at his hand. “Stop, I’m serious, it’s really big.”

“Thank you?” Rhett chuckled again, feeling high and happy and funny and a bit adventurous. So, as Link hadn’t yet moved his hand, Rhett put the joint on the ashtray on the table and raised his other hand to Link’s so they were completely mirrored. He glanced at the blonde head on Link’s shoulder, but she wasn’t even watching. In fact, it seemed she might have fallen asleep. He was grateful, actually, as he was looking at Link now, so close, touching his palms with his like they were on two sides of a sheet of glass. Link’s face came through, stoned and open and sated, looking handsome as ever with big, sparkling blue eyes.

Link’s hands felt so good against Rhett’s, so right, that he couldn’t keep himself from curling the tips of his fingers down, gently trying to lace them together.

His fingers moved slow, as did the world, and Rhett fell into it. He fell into the high, into Link.

He could have kissed Link right then and there, actually. He looked so kissable, as his eyes were cloudy and his cheeks were slightly flushed, his plump, pink lips parted sweetly. Rhett dropped his eyes to Link’s mouth, thinking about what it might taste like. It might have been a mix of that sweet drink, weed, and that beautiful, wild thing that Link was. It’d be so easy just to lean forward, eyes closed, and press his mouth against Link’s. He could do it.

Before he could, though, and before he had completely laced their hands together, someone was calling to everyone in the living room to come outside on the penthouse deck. The girl on Link’s back popped up immediately, and Rhett and Link looked at each other, still touching palms, fingers partially woven, before they decided to get up as well. Rhett took the joint with him as they left the couch.

The walk from the living room to the deck made Rhett woozy, walking behind the crowd of bodies like he wasn’t even a part of his own. It could have been the weed, it could have been Link, or it could have been both. Either way, Rhett was feeling it, and by the time they made it outside, the cold night air was another layer of serenity. The breeze cooled his pink cheeks, and after a moment of reveling in it, Rhett started smoking again, observing the scene with gritty, heavy eyes.

Everyone at the party was pressed up against the ledge of the deck. Some guests were draped on each other, holding each other’s waists, and kissing. Under the stars, they all stood, waiting to be told what they were out here for. Rhett and Link stood behind the first line, Rhett’s smoke joining the clouds in the night sky just as the voice that had called them earlier rang out once again.

“Someone’s setting off fireworks!”

Rhett looked to Link, puzzled, unsure if it was the fourth of July or not. It didn’t matter, though, because it was only a moment before said fireworks then revealed themselves, shooting up into the sky with a burst of color. They boomed, high against the navy dark, and rained sparks down over the beach. Rhett watched, struck where he stood, as the fire seared the sky into pieces and cast everyone below in a rainbow shroud. As beautiful as they were, he knew there was something better, right beside him, and he cast his eyes on Link, who had turned his face up towards the show. His eyes gleamed with fire, and he was smiling so wide, so brilliant, that he lit up the scene all on his own.

Looking at him a bit longer, Rhett wondered if he might be allowed to wrap and arm around his waist. It’d be so easy to, just to pull him into his side, stand with him like so many men and women were standing around them. He could put his arm over him and set the joint between those blushing rosebud lips. He wondered if, should he do that, things would change. That all it would take was one move, one sign to cross the boundary and make it real. It’d be so easy to, so simple. Everything could change if he just touched Link, pulled him in, and silently asked him to be his. They’d share more than a joint, more than a moment. They could share a confirmation, a promise. They’d stand under the starry sky and watch the fireworks bloom, and maybe afterwards they’d have their first kiss and create fireworks of their own. He could have Link, have it all, maybe, if he only moved an arm. If he tried.

But he didn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not even ashamed for dedicating an entire chapter to randl getting stoned, honestly. I love getting stoned, I love randl, and I love stoney rhink. It's the best of all worlds.
> 
> Also, I hope the bits of this chapter that weren't Link being gay af helped to explain that recreational drugs don't have to be scary or life-changing if you use them responsibly. Should you smoke or drink, be sure you're with people you feel safe around who you know will take care of you if something happens, in an environment that doesn't make you anxious or uncomfortable. And when you get a bit better at it, when you know how to control and trust yourself, that's when you can have those stoney night drives. (But not if you're the driver!)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The stage was a safe space, distant enough from one other to deny wandering hands, but lax enough to grant wandering eyes.

The band’s next stop was Carson City, Nevada. As expected, all four members spent the entire day after the party sleeping, their bus driver grateful for the rare silence. When they arrived - rested, but groggy - Rhett and Link still hadn’t discussed what happened at the penthouse. Nothing had, really, save for some gentle almost-hand holding. Still, and not for the first time, it felt like something had shifted. Their dynamic had steadily been shifting, changing, and due to a stoned night of flirting, neither were oblivious to it. They knew something was different, they knew something might happen.

So, it was no surprise that, by the time they were back onstage, they acted as if something had. The stage was a safe space, distant enough from one other to deny wandering hands, but lax enough to grant wandering eyes.

Rhett would watch Link, like always, as he sang, every performance more beautiful than the last. He couldn’t get enough of his voice, his mouth, his body. Rhett would play, eyes following Link’s every movement, wondering if Link knew that the words he sang had been written about him.

Link didn’t know, even as he hoped. He hoped they were, thought they could be. And, after the shift, he was more in tune with what Rhett did onstage. Which seemed to be mostly watching him. Link could feel it. He could feel Rhett staring at him as he played, and he couldn’t lie - he did show off a bit more for him.

So, Link spent their opening number and the following few as he usually did, singing to the audience, to the stars and the heavens, going warm and tingly at knowing Rhett was watching him. He made sure to sound as husky and wonderful as possible through those first few songs, but by the fifth song, his attentions had turned. It was one of their best love songs, as the ballad within followed along the lines of, “You’ve always been there, but now I’ve finally seen you,” and Link took the opportunity to sing it to Rhett.

No, really, he did. He sang it to Rhett, turning his head and his attention on the guitarist. With his hands cupped ‘round the mic, he swiveled the stand around in a sweeping arc and landed it by his mouth, his eyes never leaving his best friend. He moaned out the lyrics, singing every word with meaning that couldn’t be misunderstood. Half-lidded eyes, soft, pouty lips, and a creeping blush made Link quite a sight as he told Rhett, along with the entire crowd, that he was a beautiful fallback, an undeserved kindness. He was a dark angel, glowing as faintly as the line they had yet to cross. What made it worse, actually, was that Rhett had written the song, and now Link was turning it on him, very clearly asking for his hand through electric sound and a pointed gaze.

Rhett didn’t make much of a comment on it, as he couldn’t, but he did hold the stare back as long as he could. He bloomed with nervous disbelief, roses in his cheeks, as Link serenaded him. His eyes were so sultry, as they always were when he sang, but now they were on Rhett, and those lips - _God._ Rhett was hopeless, hands playing on auto as his brain sputtered to a halt. It was only when Link’s lyrics faded and Rhett’s solo came in did he collect himself. He stepped forward and played to the audience, brows furrowed, watching his hands work the strings, completely oblivious to Link observing him from center stage. He rocked his solo, flipping his head up to smile at the audience before he stepped back. As soon as he did, Link was on him again. He came closer with the mic stand, tipping his head forward and turning so only Rhett could see his eyes, nobody else.

This time, he told him that he wanted it all. Everything they hadn’t yet had, all that they kept at bay, he wanted. It’s all fun and games until somebody falls in love, Link sang, and he was ready for the game to end. He didn’t add Rhett’s name, change any pronouns, or break off the lyrics to blurt a confession, but it was a love song, in every sense, and Link had sung it to Rhett. The message was clear, and it hit Rhett square in the chest.

Then, as the song ended, Link resumed his outward persona. He swept back, moved away from Rhett, and changed his voice from desperate to elated. He sang the next song, a party anthem, to the very back row of the outdoor stadium. From then on, he only glanced at Rhett, and the obvious serenade went softly into the night.

After the show, Link met Rhett backstage once again. He smiled up at him, pink in his cheeks, but otherwise said nothing.

“Good show, buddy.” Rhett said.

Link’s eyes crinkled at the creases. “Yeah, I think so, too.”

The next show was no better than the last, as Link kicked up his serenading to cover two songs. He dragged the mic stand partway across the stage to be closer to him, too. Rhett could do nothing but play along, keeping his eyes on Link until he couldn’t bear it and had to look to the audience for escape. Still, Link pressed on, baring his sharp, white canines as he growled out the lusty lyrics, Rhett his primary focus.

The show after that was still worse, as Link would take the mic from the stand and pace around the place, dancing and prancing and glancing at Rhett, not only singing to him now, but seemingly about him, as he’d stand on one end of the stage and peek a look on every vague pronoun.

Rhett couldn’t let it go unnoticed, actually, as watching the love of his life bask in the stage lights and flirt at him was nearly unbearable. So, between songs, he’d sling his guitar over his shoulder, walk up to Link, and whisper something in his ear. They had done this before, of course, as they were always checking in on each other, but now there were lingering touches on shoulders and just the faintest ghost of the tip of Rhett’s nose against the shell of Link’s ear. Sometimes, during instrumental breaks in songs, they’d call to each other from across the stage, teasing. Rhett would comment on Link’s (usually tight) outfit, and Link would tell him to fuck off with a huge, cheeky, shit-eating grin. It was teasing and flirting, perhaps a bit dramatized from the rush of performing, but real all the same.

In fact, there was one show, in Phoenix, Arizona, where Rhett and Link kicked it up a notch, so much even, that they were called out.

Rhett was watching Link during one of their sexier songs as he dragged the mic around, swaying his slightly curvy hips in time with every beat. He was wearing tight black jeans, and had tied a red scarf around his waist in place of a belt, making his butt look softer and plusher than ever as the ends of the fabric draped off the sweet arch of it. His shirt was no better, as it rose a bit higher than it should have and revealed the dip in his spine and his flat, toned stomach. The stage lights were changing between blue, pink, and purple, and Link’s beautiful, lithe form had Rhett feeling some kind of way.

It worsened when Link spun ‘round at a change in the music and began pacing towards Rhett, eyes dark and intense beneath his raven fringe. He dragged the mic alongside him, stepping in powerful strides towards a smirking Rhett, whose tan hands played his guitar with all the gentle intimacy he would have offered Link. Link, in contrast, was determined and rough. He got up in Rhett’s space, so close he could see the rings of color in his eyes, tapping his sneakers on the stage as he sang to them. Link held it there, steady, raising his eyebrows along with the pitch of his voice. Rhett licked his lips.

Then the verse ended, and in the moment between the next chorus, Link tipped his head back, stretched his arm high, and felt the music run through his nerves and out his fingertips.

With the chorus kicking up once more, Link suddenly turned around, presented his bum to Rhett’s guitar, and began grinding his hips. He inched backwards on every swivel until there was less than six inches between Rhett’s hand and his rear. He sang the entire chorus like that, rolling his hips, making love to the microphone in one hand, his other brushing the lights out of the sky. He could feel Rhett behind him, tall and warm and electric, and it made him slightly dizzy. As his voice strained through the high notes, Link looked, a bit breathlessly, over his shoulder at Rhett, batted his eyelashes playfully, and ended the chorus in a body roll, leaping away from his guitarist and taking on center stage once again.

Rhett was left alone, confused and blushing, sure that he’d spent the entire chorus with his eyes on Link’s butt. His mouth had gone dry, and his heart threatened to leap out his flannel with every beat.

As Rhett and Link quickly resumed their own personal space, the audience roared, screaming more wildly than they ever had at the strange, flirty interaction. The screaming didn’t subside until the song ended, and even then, Rhett and Link caught the faintest hints of shrieks, some fans even calling to the heavens for answers.

Link’s heart was racing as he went upstage to get some water. When he did, he looked to Mike, their drummer, who, thankfully, had always been silent about the close friendship between he and Rhett. Now, however, he gave Link a confused, almost disturbed look, raising his drum sticks in both hands as if to say, “What in the actual fuck?”

Link just shrugged, took a big gulp of water, and wiped his mouth. When he came back, the screams reared up again, and he took it greedily. He soaked up the energy and rode the high (and slight arousal) through the rest of the concert, not once going back to Rhett, letting the erotic moment go unsaid.

After this particular show, Rhett and Link decided to greet the fans, which they didn’t usually do, and hadn’t yet on this tour. They pushed out the backstage doors and into the hot Arizona night, where screaming fans stood pressed up against a metal gate, their rainbow bracelet wrists reaching through. Rhett smiled as he lead Link towards the thickest of them, even reaching out his hand to touch them. They screamed and grabbed, making Rhett raise his brows and chuckle. Link then joined him on one side and began taking tickets and shirts and albums to sign.

For the first few minutes, it was just excited chatter and screams, which Link had to settle. He raised his hands to bring the noise down, grinning like a fool all the while. He then told them he was so thankful they came out tonight, and that he loved and appreciated every single one of them. Rhett watched him as he spoke, as he glowed, his charming smile wooing even the most rowdy fans into submission. Thankfully, after Link’s little speech, it went relatively quiet, calm before the storm, and Rhett and Link took the moment to lean in and whisper something to each other. When they did, blue lightning cracked the grey sky and released the hurricane.

“Are you guys dating?” one of the fans shouted.

Rhett and Link looked up, struck where they stood. They said nothing, and someone else took the awkward moment to prod further.

“If you’re not dating, are you fucking?”

Link flushed. “Uh…”

A few brave girls shoved to the front of the gate and continued to ask them questions regarding their relationship, wondering if, in their many years as best friends, something ever happened. They then used what they’d done onstage during the chorus of _If My Skin’s Your Sanity, Then Your Lips Are My Poison_ as evidence of budding (or repressed) feelings, and continued to prompt them for answers as their boyfriends stared Rhett and Link down sternly from a safe distance behind the crowd.

While the questions were forward, Rhett and Link were used to the intensity of fans, and the two friends could feel the genuine curiosity beneath the deranged interview. They knew that at the heart of it, their fans were really just asking, “Is there something going on between you? Are you an item?”

Now, both Rhett and Link wanted to say yes. They wanted to say that in the past week or so, the last few shows, something had changed, and they now were floating in this unknown zone of maybe. Maybe they were a couple, maybe they were just getting there. Maybe they found that every bus ride between shows was the best of their lives because they spent it together, sitting side by side, legs and arms all tangled up, playing with the stray strands of denim from their ripped blue jeans, soft smiles on their sleepy faces. They wanted to confess that these days, every post-show high came not from smoke, but the color of his eyes in the dark and the way the stars fell on his lashes. That their shows became more intoxicating the moment he stepped into the light, the moment the first strum sounded and Link’s voice crashed over the fans before them. That their music, too, was incredibly intimate, especially the love songs, as their fans at home sat on the couch, listening dutifully through big headphones as their poets came to life. And, if they were really honest, they wanted to lower their voices and whisper that there was very little keeping them from pouncing each other in a hotel room to explore if they were better off as lovers, and not the other way around. They wanted to share that with the fans, with the scene, even if it might have been too much. Rhett and Link both, as reserved as they were, wanted to show that the mighty _do_  fall in love, just like anyone else. Their icons don’t fall for the stars, they fall for the neighborhood kid with the scuffed up shoes.

They wished they could tell them this, but they knew there would only be chaos if they did.

Link glanced back at the two security guards on either side of the double doors and saw them bristle as the girls, and a few other fans continued to ask them. Rhett kept his eyes on his hands, unsure what to do. Both of them thought they were the only ones to feel that chemistry onstage, coming away from it buzzing electric, on fire. Apparently, they were not, as it seemed the two of them alone were not the only ones to notice it, their inquisitive fans proving themselves to be regular Sherlock Holmeses. They’d seen Link’s obvious serenade and flirty dance moves, as well as Rhett’s reddened, raised-brow reaction, and now they wanted answers.

However, the only answer the boys gave was a nervous chuckle before glancing at each other, love in their eyes and blood in their cheeks. They moved on past those particular fans and went down the line, going to sign more tickets, specifically not answering questions about their personal relationship. This, of course, only helped play into the idea that there _was_ something there to hide.

And there might have been, truthfully. As the Wax Paper Dogz were growing in popularity, headlining a risqué relationship between the lead singer and guitarist might not have been as welcome as it was in Rhett and Link’s hearts. This was the early 2000s, and as much as they wished it wasn’t the case, same gender relationships weren’t exactly what every top forty love song was written about, in all honesty. And to think that a homoerotic relationship existed in a punk boy band, especially between two sex icons that any girl between twelve and twenty five most likely thirsted for, was laughable at best. Rhett and Link were heartbreakers, dominating the scene with ballads about pretty, blue-eyed girls that left them to park their pickup truck out in front of her neighbor’s house and sleep on her parents’ porch. To shatter that image of boyfriend next door would be catastrophe for the band. Or, at least, that’s what Rhett and Link thought.

 _Should_ something more happen between them, they would have to keep it from the tabloids, as well as the fans. It would be one more secret in their strange, rockstar life, one more thing to separate them from any other starry-eyed North Carolina dreamer. They could ruin more than their brotherhood - they could blow this whole operation if word of Link’s goo-goo eyes spread.

Naturally, as most things do within a fan community, word did spread. By the time Rhett, Link, Mike, and Jason were set to perform in the next city, a massive surge of screams would rise from the crowd whenever Rhett and Link drew near. If they even so much at glanced at each other, the fans would go crazy, abandon the lyrics they sang to collectively riot. It only took one experimental show after Phoenix for the other two members of the band to speak up, as they usually didn’t muddle in each other’s personal lives.

* * *

Mike, their drummer, was a small and wiry twenty-seven year old with a stern brow and smattering of dark stubble along his heart-shaped face. He didn’t dress as flashy as the two frontmen, but he did rep their band logo most often, which was important. He was handsome, and plenty of fans liked him, but he never really got to say much, so they didn’t know that he was actually pretty impertinent. He was often tough on Rhett and Link, especially about songwriting. He would pitch ideas for songs, but as he’d told them when they’d first started the band, “I’m shit at writing, but I can play like nobody’s business, so this whole arrangement will work out fine.”

And he was right. He was a fantastic drummer, just as Jason was a fantastic bassist. All of them, Rhett and Link included, were talented in their specific fields, as well as generally good at being rockstars. And Mike knew this, about Link, especially. He knew Link was a charmer, the pretty-boy lead. He let him do what he wanted, just as Link let him, and it all worked out.

They were in the bus, headed to the next state, when Mike brought up Phoenix.

“Look,” he said, one leg propped up on the red bus seat. “I don’t know what’s going on with you two and the fans, and I won’t ask. All I know is we gotta start working on our next album. We still have a lot of shows left to play, but I know a lot of bands write while on the road. So please, whatever’s going on, just promise me you’ll try to write some songs, okay?”

Rhett plucked his guitar, Link curled up on the seat beside him, and they both nodded. “Okay Mike, we will.” Link said.

“And Jason,” Mike turned towards the sleepy bassist (he seemed to always be nodding off) and spoke to him as well. “I know you’ve wanted to take a crack at songwriting, that’s what you told me. So this goes for you, too.”

“Right-o, boss.” Jason murmured, only his hand popping up from the couch on which he was napping to give a meek thumbs-up.

Mike rubbed the back of his neck. “You know I feel guilty about not being that great of a writer -“

“It’s okay, Mike.” Rhett said softly, earning him a little smile from Link.

“I just know you three will be better. So try, please, to think of some new stuff. I don’t know if the scene’s tastes have changed, but they seem to like our old sound well enough, so let’s not shoot for anything too different, okay? …Anyway, I just wanted to say that.” He stood, the desert passing behind him in a golden blur outside the bus windows. “I’m going to take a nap. If you think of lyrics or melodies, jot them down and show them to me, and we can start working on stuff. I’m sure you’ll both be great, just like you always are.” And then he was wobbling back towards the back of the bus towards their bunks, leaving Rhett, Link, and a softly snoring Jason alone in the main compartment.

Link nudged Rhett with his shoulder. “You got anything?” he asked, eyes flicking from Rhett’s strong brows down to his neatly trimmed beard.

“I’ve been thinkin’,” Rhett replied. “I want to write more songs about friendship.” He then turned to Link, his soft, reddened bottom lip twitching into the smallest smile.

“Friendships are important.” Link said, his eyes on the rolling hills in the distance.

Rhett didn’t follow his gaze, and instead looked at him, at his strong jaw peppered by his growing stubble. “Yeah. They are.”

Neither of them could see that Jason, who was not actually asleep, had rolled his eyes beneath the beanie covering his face at the two lovesick rockstars he was stuck with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter, but an important one because plot! Plot is happening!
> 
> Also, Mike and Jason share nothing with the Mythical crew members save for their names and aren't really meant to represent them.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They continued to flirt onstage, no more or less than they ever had.

Rhett and Link promised Mike that they’d start writing songs, and they stood by it. Together, they cranked out two separate party anthems, one of which had more to do with flying down the highway in an open top convertible with a gaggle of drunk friends while the other was deep in smoky hallways lit by Christmas lights. Jason took a crack at writing a song, too, which turned out to be a sort of generic heartbreak ballad, but was good all the same. They ran by what they had to Mike, and he was satisfied. He left them alone for a while, and they continued their tour in peace.

But this peace, apparently, meant more onstage flirting. Mike said nothing as Rhett and Link continued to give each other goo-goo eyes during shows, as he’d gotten a few songs and was promised more. It was a compromise - half-baked songs for freedom to fuck around, potentially literally. So the weeks went on, hosting parties between shows, getting stoned, and spending as much (or more) time together than they ever had. Onstage, they didn’t push anything beyond dancing around each other, staring at each other. The fans cheered louder and louder with every show, especially when Link took Rhett upstage by the arm to tell him something. Sometimes, that something was nothing more than, “You look good tonight,” or even, “We sound great, don’t you think?” What else they may have said was left to the fans, and Rhett and Link gave them just enough to keep them wondering what happened offstage.

Which, unfortunately for both of them, wasn’t really anything. As much as they both wanted something to happen, and thought something could, nothing ever did. There was still this boundary, somehow, and both Rhett and Link were left to wonder if their onstage personas were just that - a public face. Perhaps their flirting was ramped up to earn more screams from fans, to skyrocket ticket sales. There was no way to be certain that every brush of fingertips on skin and sparkling, crinkling eyes was truly meant, and if it was, what the intention might be. So, while they were sure there was something there, they couldn’t be absolutely certain that it was enough, or real enough, to start something. They were left to wonder, pine. They’d done twenty years of it, and even as they knew how to deal, it hurt so much more now that they were close, now that there was potential. Still, the weeks following that meet-and-greet interrogation, the two only ran on close flirting, fleeting touches, and ending the night wondering if or when they were ever going to get it together.

Now, as much as Rhett wished they could define their relationship, become something more, he wasn’t altogether disappointed with how things were going now. He had Link, in one way or another, and it was enough. Link was there beside him, offstage and on, smiling at him with those beautiful eyes, singing love songs to him, sitting with him on the bus, chasing him around the rest stops, tackling him in the grass… It was a good life. Obviously, Rhett wished he could kiss him whenever he wanted, make love to him, too, but he wasn’t going to push it. He’d gotten what he wanted - some hint of confirmation that they weren’t just good friends -and he was happy. He could live it with it, even if he’d count every second until he had the strength to lean forward, close the gap, and do it right.

Link, on the other hand, wasn’t content with sitting around and waiting anymore. He’d done too much of that, for too long, and he wanted to push the boundaries. He was the one to sing to Rhett first, to come up to him onstage and shake his stuff, tease him. While Rhett was usually the one half of them to touch more, stare a little bit too long, Link now took the lead and set the pace. Which, he felt, was still too slow. Link wanted more, and fast. He wanted to climb into Rhett’s hotel bed and show him what he’d been missing for almost ten years, what he could have had their prom night. He dreamed of putting his head on Rhett’s chest, looking up into his face, and kissing his lips. It’d be easy to, the most natural, and yet… He was still scared. He surged in and out of fear and power, and it drove him wild. He told himself he had nothing to fear, as whatever he offered Rhett seemed welcome and requited, but there was still hesitance. He hated that there was, but he couldn’t help it. Link had so many people cheering for him, literally, to make it with Rhett, and yet he just couldn’t bring himself to bring it up for real. And Rhett hadn’t yet, either, so maybe, Link thought, there was nothing to say. Maybe it really was just a close friendship, and the change in dynamic he’d felt had been all in his head. He couldn’t be sure. So he just went on, flirting when he could, pulling back when nervous. Weeks passed like that, and it was torture, but it was safe.

Both of them were oblivious to the other’s sentiments, or tried to be. If Link saw something that scared him, he’d withdraw. When Rhett found a chance, an opportunity to go for it, he didn’t let himself. It was there and gone again - a dance. Everyone else around them was getting sick of it. It was a game of will they or won’t they, and as devoted as the fans were, even they wouldn’t want to be strung along forever. This added another expectation, another stress. Rhett and Link weren’t blind to it, and it made everything harder. Still, they went on. 

One morning, Rhett and Link decided to nurse over the remnants of the party the night before by sleeping in late and ordering room service. The hotels and penthouses they stayed at between shows were always beautiful, and while they didn’t see very much of them as they were shuffled along to the next show before they could enjoy it, they wanted to really try this time. So they took what was offered, a quality experience, and went all out. Link ordered pancakes and cereal and fruit and pie, while Rhett stuck with a hot meal, eggs and bacon and potatoes and toast and sausage. They ordered drinks, too, tea and juice and coffee, as well as a side of croissants and biscuits for good measure.

Link stayed in bed, reading over the morning paper, as Rhett showered. They shared a room, of course, while Jason and Mike had singles, and nobody said anything about it. That was how it usually was, anyway, considering Rhett and Link lived together back home in Los Angeles. Yes, they were roommates, as well as best friends, giving the tragic nature of their situation another layer of painful hilarity that wasn’t lost on either of them.

When Rhett emerged from the bathroom, squeaky clean and handsome in a fluffy white bathrobe, Link looked up and smiled at him. Rhett grinned back, his amber hair dark and damp and curling in wet coils on his forehead. Rhett moved over to his bed and sat down on it, crossing his legs as he rubbed a towel through his hair.

“It looks good down, y’know,” Link said.

“Hm?”

“Your hair. When it goes down.”

“Ah… Well, thanks, buddy. But I think the fans like it up better, honestly. Makes me look older, or something.”

Link folded the newspaper and put it aside. “Is that what they said?”

Rhett looked down at the styling product in his hands that he'd brought in from the bathroom. He uncapped it and rubbed some into his palms as he said, “It’s what the tabloids said. ‘Rhett McLaughlin, upcoming rockstar with a rockstar’s up-do!’”

“If they spent more time on their headlines and less obsessing over your hair, they’d probably be better off.” Link chuckled as he watched Rhett smooth his fingers into his hair and style it up, hands so gentle as he moved every amber strand in place. “How do you feel about that, anyway?” he asked. “The tabloids.”

Rhett paused his grooming, just for a moment, and pursed his lips. “It’s part of the job, I guess. I mean it is weird the way they sort of get into all this stuff they know about us, some stuff that isn’t even true.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

Those beautiful tan hands went back to work as Rhett continued, “One time, I read this piece that said I had three sisters, and one of them married my childhood friend, which is why he and I don’t talk anymore.”

Link huffed a small laugh, “Childhood friend? Believe me, brother, I think if I’d married one of your nonexistent sisters, I sure as hell wouldn’t be here right now.”

Rhett wiped his hands on his robe and smiled at Link, more in his eyes than anything. Link met it, feeling his cheeks go tight. He didn’t know what else to say, but it seemed he didn’t have to, as he heard a knock at the door and a pleasant voice call.

“Room service!”

Link leapt from the bed and went to the door, opening it up quick, giving the man waiting in the hall a big, goofy smile. Link stepped aside as he pushed the cart through and into the center of the room, then looked at Rhett and wiggled his eyebrows as the server began setting up the table. He placed two normal plates, a few serving plates, and silverware on the table, then set gleaming silver dishes neatly beside them. As a finishing touch, he replaced the flowers in the vase in the center, and turned to go with a pleasant smile and nod. Rhett told him thank you, and he was gone, leaving the two friends to rush towards the table and dig in.

They released the food from their silver domes, Rhett’s hot meals steaming, while Link’s milk and fruit and pie were all chilled to perfection. They sat on opposite ends of the table and began serving themselves, Rhett filling his plate while Link poured a good amount of fresh cereal into a deep bowl. They then ate ravenously for about five minutes in silence, only stopping to look up at each other and laugh. Twenty-five year old rockstars got hungry, of course they did, and almost nothing would go between them and a good meal.

The five minutes after that, they slowed their roll and began chatting pleasantly in between bites of sausage and watermelon. They’d said anything and everything they could about the shows and the tour, ever so delicately dancing around the subject of the fans and their impression of them. But it didn’t matter, really. They were having a good time, so were the fans, and that’s all that mattered. Why talk it out?

Well, for one, both of them were still desperately wishing for more, even as they sat and talked like old friends. They wished they could be feeding each other bits of pie, kissing the sweet cherries off each other’s lips. Obviously, neither of them said this, at least not with their voices. Their eyes were a different matter.

Link couldn’t keep his gaze off the triangle of tan skin below Rhett’s neck at the halves of his loose robe. As he sipped his coffee, he wondered what it might be like if he just got up, stepped around the table, leaned over him, nibbled at his ear, and slipped his hands inside. The thought of it, even trying it, then became too much, and he blushed into his mug and looked away.

This is how the breakfast continued, both men looking at each other with sneaky glances, talking in hushed tones in between intervals of food. It was when Rhett brought up his multiverse theory was the breakfast forgotten and done with.

“Any moment,” Rhett said, “any moment at all. If you can think it, it’s happening. Right now, in a world apart from ours.”

Link dropped his head between his shoulders. “Here we go again…”

“No, really. There’s a universe where we became engineers, Link. Where we never started the band, never went on tour. In another world somewhere, we’re farmers or dads, anything.”

“Rhett…”

Rhett was relentless. He leaned forward in his chair, beautiful chest peeking at link through his robe. His hair had dried completely now, and he looked so handsome - awake and alert. His eyes gleamed with intelligent passion, as they usually did when he went off on tangents like this. And, as often as he heard it, Link let him continue on with his theory purely because he loved to watch the fire ignite within him.

“There’s a universe where the smallest thing changed everything. Maybe you fell offstage during that crazy dance move you pulled during _Liquid Gold Lipstick Heaven_ , I don’t know.”

Link withheld a laugh, and instead pressed his lips together and smiled. “What else?” he asked, indulging Rhett.

“Well, there’s a world in which we all got in an accident in the tour bus, and one where only one of us survived.”

“That’s awful!”

“I know, but if you can think it, it’s real. Happening, right now, in another universe. Minuscule differences, massive changes… It doesn’t matter. They’re all individual universes, and they’re all real.”

Link cocked his head. “Hm.”

“Look, think of it this way. There are all these separate realities, and we’re just living in one. We’re living in the one where we grew up together, started a band, and are now on tour. But there’s are multiple universes happening right now where the two kids from North Carolina never made it out of the South, where a struggling guitarist and his best friend didn’t find two other musicians, and they never practiced in a garage for hours on end. But, in a universe where they did succeed, they might be totally different from us. They could have had a huge fight, maybe the you in that world ended up marrying one of my three sisters, as they’d exist in that universe but not in this one. It’s all relative. Whatever you can think of, it exists, right then and there. If you let your imagination run wild, think of all the possibilities it can, then somewhere out there, your thoughts exist. Link, imagination is the act of exploring parallel universes, unless parallel universes can violate the laws of physics. In that case, imagination is not.”

Rhett locked eyes with Link and waited. When Link didn’t respond, he reared back and slipped a hand through his hair. Delicately, of course. He didn’t want to mess it up.

After a moment, Link spoke. “Are you high?”

Rhett rolled his eyes, “No, I’m not high. Listen man, I’ve told you this before. It’s just been on my mind a lot, like anything that might be different in this world exists in another. A complete universe, parallel to ours, but different. Isn’t that neat?”

“Yeah, Rhett. It’s real neat.”

Rhett looked away and crossed his arms. “Whatever man, I think it’s cool.”

Link’s stomach tightened, “No, I’m not saying it’s not. Aw, come on Rhett. Rhett. I just… Don’t have your imagination. Even if I did think of worlds like that, it’d never occur to me that they’d be real. It really is cool, I’m not kidding. It’s interesting to think about.”

Luckily, Rhett lightened up. He usually did. “Yeah, it is.”

Silence settled in, and something passed between them that Link didn’t know how to name. It was tense, unspoken, as if someone somewhere was laughing at them. The power, high above them, looked down at the two musicians in a hotel room, asking the heavens how it was possible these two could talk of universes in which fate played them, and yet they couldn’t breathe a word of the mutual romantic desires. It was like they were allowed to speak of anything, everything, but not that. They’d seen each other at their best, their worst, and everything in between, and still they couldn’t ask if there was more. They wouldn’t let themselves, and it was absolutely ridiculous. With a deity laughing at them from beyond the veil of reality, Rhett broke the silence.

He cleared his throat and licked his lips. “Anyway… We can get going if you want. Go hang out somewhere and try to get more inspiration for songs before the show tonight.”

Link took the offered out and stood. “That sounds good.” He kept his eyes on the tight columns of Rhett’s neck for a moment before he looked down at the demolished breakfast spread. “Do we just leave this mess here?”

Following Link’s lead, Rhett rose from the table and teased, “How many hotels have we stayed in, Link? There’s a cleaning service for a reason.”

Link moseyed back to his bed, “Fine, whatever. We’ll just be those crappy rockstars who left all their shit everywhere. Great.”

A warm hand clapped his shoulder, and Rhett’s gorgeous voice dusted across the back of Link’s neck. It made his skin prickle.

“That’s what we are, though. This is our universe, and we’re allowed to be slobs. We’re celebrities now, Link. Enjoy it.” Then Rhett was passing by him, flicking one last look over his shoulder before disappearing into the bathroom to do whatever it was Rhett had left to do.

This left Link alone in the main room, contemplating the multiverse theory. If Rhett was right, if any parallel universe he could think up existed somewhere else, then there must’ve been a world in which he and Rhett were together. There was a story being told where they’d gone to prom together, kissed while dancing, and made love for the first time that night. In another, he was with Rhett in that bathroom right now, pressing him up against the counter and slipping that goddamn white robe off, kissing his shoulders, and finally, _finally_ tasting that beautiful skin.

_If you can think it, somewhere, it’s real._

Link gave a pathetic laugh and shook his head. _If that were the case, Rhett,_ he said to himself, _There’s a thousand existing worlds in which you love me back._

* * *

During the show that night, something changed. A few of the fans were holding up signs, like they always did, but this time, the big red and black letters said something the Wax Paper Dogz had never seen.

_Rhink._

Apparently, it was a combination of Rhett and Link’s names, and was used to convey that the fans liked them together. As a couple, an item. That’s what Jason said, anyway. He had only given a little smile and shrugged when Rhett and Link asked what it was, and while they didn’t know why Jason, of all people, would know it, they didn’t question it. They let it happen, as they usually did, and said nothing. They continued to flirt onstage, no more or less than they ever had. Though, in all honesty, Link couldn’t shake the thought of the multiverse. Every time he crossed the stage to tell Rhett something, he thought of a world in which he was allowed to grab him by the back of the neck and pull him in for a kiss for all the fans to see.

And they would have loved it, too, because in the shows following, the posters adorning the strange word only increased in frequency. Now, there were many signs and shirts to proudly display the fans’ collective fantasy. Some of them said, “I LOVE RHINK!” or “GIVE US RHINK!” while others aired on the side of even worse superiority, simply stating, “WAX PAPER RHINK!”

It made it seem that the relationship between Rhett and Link was the only thing worth noting about the band, and while the two of them didn’t seem to have much of a problem with it, Mike definitely did, and he pulled them aside once more, this time in the lobby of another hotel as they waited for their bus to refuel.

“Guys. We need to talk about this.”

Rhett and Link were sitting adjacent to Mike on one couch, Mike on the other, and Jason nodding off in the corner, a square table between them. Some people recognized them, but the hotel staff restrained them from going over. Every now and then, someone would squeak or shout Link’s name, but, as they had to, the band just ignored it. Rhett kept his eyes on the clear glass beads in the round centerpiece on the table as Mike continued.

“I know you’ve seen the signs. I’ve seen them. The whole goddamn world’s seen them. It’s a thing now, y’know? Like it’s everywhere. There was a blog post last night that called it a kind of ‘craze’ - _Mad Dash to Rhink City.”_

“A good song,” Rhett murmured.

“It’s not funny, Rhett. I don’t care what song of ours they wanna use, it’s not gonna help us write any more.” Mike sighed. “Look. Just - just listen to me, okay? Link? Just listen.”

Link shifted in his spot and Rhett leaned back, draping his arm across the top of the couch behind him.

Mike scrubbed a hand down his scruff. “I hate this. I hate being the guy to confront you, you know that. But I gotta say it. This thing, whatever this is?” He gestured at them, who, in all honesty, did look like a couple, Rhett’s arm draped behind Link, Link’s thighs spread, relaxed. “You can’t do it anymore, okay? I wasn’t going to tell you not to, as it seemed it was helping our ratings a little bit. But now… God, it’s taking away from the content, the music. It’s like they don’t even know Jason and I exist. It’s just you two and this goddamn… _romance_. And it’s not fair. It’s not fair to us, the other half of this band, and it’s not fair to the fans, either.”

Rhett brought his arm out from behind Link as he asked, “The fans? Why not?”

“They really want you two together, and some of them even think you’re already a couple. You’re giving them false hope.”

A rift of tension went between Rhett and Link then, and they sneaked guilty glances at each other. Mike rolled his eyes. “Guys -“

Link cut him off. “We’re just having fun.”

“Yeah,” Rhett added. “What’s the big deal?”

“It’s distracting, that’s the big deal. And it’s become a big deal because they believe a lie, and neither of you are telling them otherwise. It’s this whole goddamn thing now, and it can’t be. We need to reestablish ourselves as a band, a _band._ We need to work on our next album and finish out this tour. We don’t have many states left, so just try not to encourage anymore of this ‘Rhink’ shit in the remaining shows, okay? I asked you once, weeks ago, to write me some songs, and you did. And now I’m asking for you for this. Please don’t let this take away from our music, _please.”_

Rhett and Link were quiet. Even though Mike said he hated being the one to tell them what to do, they both knew he preferred it. He liked to manage them, from what they drank on the bus to how they sang the harmonies in _Hey, Persephone._ And now, he was telling them not to cater to the fans, to stay true to the brand. It wasn’t that hard of a request, in all honesty. It seemed reasonable.

The only problem was that Rhett and Link didn’t think they could. It might have been too late. They were too far gone, and the fans knew it. The only thing they could do now was wait it out, see if Rhink city went ghost town as soon as the tour ended. Both Rhett and Link hoped it wouldn’t, though. They couldn’t let whatever it was between them die, even if the stage went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a lot of things I love about writing this fic, but my personal favorite, my guilty pleasure, is coming up with all these FOB-type songs. Like do you know what I would give to hear Rhett and Link sing _Hey, Persephone?_ I can only imagine how dead I'd be...
> 
> Anyway, now we can see the start of something a lot like plot, something that'll either make or break the romance all the fans have "invented."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tension broke, but quietly, slowly, bringing down the house not with a scream but a whisper.

Finally, after weeks of restless shows and masses of screaming fans, the Wax Paper Dogz ended their tour. They’d crossed the country as best they could, and by the time they finished up in New York, all four members were tired, and rightfully so. They’d never done so many shows in quick succession before, and the strain of it had them all exhausted and short with each other. Except Rhett and Link, of course. They were fine.

They were better than fine, actually, they had never felt so connected, so powerful. They had become the new hot couple, headlining blogs and magazines as the scene’s sexiest rockstars. The tabloids built them up to be greater than they were, and they didn’t mind a bit. And, along with naming Rhett the “beaut with the beard” and Link his “blue-eyed dreamboat,” column writers seemed to have no problem referring to them as confirmed dating. As the shows went on, people stopped wishing Rhett and Link would get together and started to believe that they _were_. As much as Mike hated it, neither Rhett nor Link confirmed or denied their romantic relationship. When fans shouted at them, threw things at them, and mobbed them on the streets, they’d keep it vague, never really giving a finite answer. This led them to live as performers, presenting a relationship that wasn’t really there. It was a fake relationship that the fans fed off, but that didn’t make it any less real for the two lovers involved. To them, everything they did onstage was real - every lingering touch, every heated glance, every serenade. True, it might not have been confirmed between them, but it didn’t matter. The fans thought it was real, and so did they, independently. That makes it real, right?

Wrong. It was still fake, a falsity. It was a untrue promise, a counterfeit hope for all the fans who went home after shows and dreamed of what sides of the bed their two icons slept on. Along with making blog posts and signs and stories, they’d call their friends, get together, and study old tapes, never knowing that the interviews from the Dogz’ early days weren’t true evidence for the beginnings of real life “Rhink.”

But Rhett and Link never told them otherwise. They let them believe, let them dream. And, in their separate beds, they dreamed the same.

By the time they finished their tour, they had made good progress in songwriting, but weren’t completely done. So, bidding Manhattan and their tour bus goodbye, they climbed onto a private jet sent for them and headed back to Los Angeles, eager to really solidify the album. Neither the band nor the pilot thought twice about leaving the bus driver to drive back across the country alone, since they didn’t really care. The bus driver, on the other hand, was grateful for some peace and quiet, as both he and his bus were tired of hosting four rowdy twenty-something year old rockstars.

Fortunately, the flight back to California was peaceful. Mike had passed out over the small couch-bed in back, and Jason was in the cockpit, chatting up the pretty female pilot. This left Rhett and Link to sit at the small table in what would, on a commercial flight, be first class. There was a vase in the center of the table, sunk down low so it didn’t spill in turbulence, and both boys nursed cocktails as they gazed out the window and at the country below. They spent the first two hours of the flight talking and playing hangman and time-passing games, but by the fourth, they thought it might be best to work on a song. So, with sheets of paper between them and two blue ballpoint pens, they set about working on one of their final songs.

So far, the album had about twelve, some of which were only half-baked. Some were Jason’s, but most were Rhett and Link’s, and the one they worked on between them now was a song about distance. It was pretty easy to write, actually, as they flew above plains and rivers and deserts and cities, leaving New York behind, already missing its bustling streets and constant state of awake. They loved LA, as it was so different from North Carolina, but they weren’t so blindly devoted to it that they loathed travel. It was quite the opposite, in fact. They’d talked many times of trying to take the tours global, see what they could see. And if not, Rhett and Link agreed just to take a trip themselves, hit up Greece and Thailand and England and Egypt. That was their next goal, maybe, traveling. It’d feel good, they decided.

However, here and now, they weren’t off traveling, they weren’t in the white villas on Grecian beaches or the shiny streets of Bangkok. They were here, in a plane, writing a song about lonely hearts, split by the sea. They wrote of two lovers (and a vague third party), who had separated because one of them went off to war. Across oceans, they pined for each other, moreso the solider than his girl. Now, the Dogz didn’t write too many patriotic ballads, as they kind of prided themselves on going against the system, but Mike convinced them to at least slip some sort of veteran heartbreak in there for good measure. So the story went on, one man across the sea, leaving his girl at home. The twist was, of course, that the girl had found someone else to keep her warm at night, and their lonesome hero begged the question, _“Are his hands soft on your skin, has he already won? And were mine too rough with you, violent like this soldier’s gun?”_

Rhett and Link bickered over syllables and rhymes only a few times as they wrote, wrists crossing over the paper to make marks and comments, changing adjectives to get the right “feel.” Almost two hours and three small cocktails later, they had finished the song, and left the soldier without hope, reason, or his girl. The last thing to do was name it, which surprisingly hadn’t come as easily to them as previous songs.

Link set his pen down and leaned back, carding his fingers through his cropped hair and rolling his neck. He rubbed his eyes and stretched, twisting in the wide plane seat and groaning. Rhett watched him, the collar of his blue flannel so beautiful against his tan neck. When Link curled back in and set his elbows on the grey table between them, he caught the lust in Rhett’s lingering eyes, and he smirked. “What should we name this puppy?” he asked.

Rhett let himself look at Link’s fat bottom lip as he bit it between his lovely white teeth before he met his eyes and said, _“Ten Thousand Seas From Loving You?”_

“Hm, that’s good, but I think it’d be better if we dropped the element of ‘you,’ I mean it’s already in the song.”

“True.”

“ _Better with a Gun?”_

“Better than what?”

“Loving her.”

They met eyes, silent for a moment, holding the gaze steady before Rhett broke it to look out the window. It was late afternoon, and the ground below was golden. Swatches of beige, brown, and yellow passed beneath their plane as they flew over the desert midwest. The sky was blue, peppered by small cotton clouds, and Rhett traced the shapes and patterns of their shadows with his eyes. The plane was moving steadily, balanced on air, but the unmistakable feel of flight had them vibrating on a low hum, the stale cabin atmosphere making Rhett’s head and ears stuffy. He didn’t complain, though. It was better than driving all the way back in that tour bus. Sure, they probably could have doubled their tour time if they did, hitting states twice, even more cities, but they didn’t want to push it. They were on the rise to fame, and maybe they were there, but they didn’t want to saturate it. Flying back was fine. He was here, with Link, and they were writing. That’s all he wanted, really.

 _“Desert Honeymoon Backlash,”_ Rhett whispered against the glass.

“What? They’re not married, brother, come on. Give me something here.”

Rhett turned back, met with Link’s eyes. His breath caught a bit, as he’d never be used to how beautiful he was, even when disheveled. “I’m trying, man. You think of something, tell me your process. Like, what kind of song is this? It’s angsty, don’t you think? I mean, he doesn’t get her in the end.”

Link licked his lips. Rhett mirrored the movement. “Fine,” Link said, “I like the ten thousand seas thing, but also the desert. We’ve never really been one for names that made sense, so I think anything that’s random but still stays true to the story would work. _Ten Thousand Desert Seas Between You and Me?_ See, there’s that _you_ thing again. I don’t like using it if we don’t have to.”

“I know, I get it.” Rhett reached for his plastic cup, downing the melted ice. He set it down then said, _“Golden Moons and Heartbreak Beetles?”_

Link laughed, “What does that even _mean_?”

“No clue. Whatever, Link, just throw some out there. Brainstorm.”

Rhett watched with soft eyes as Link clasped his hands together. “Okay. Uh… _Pink Oceans, Black Ribbons_ … _Praying to a Jester Moon? Home Wrecker Purgatory?_ Wait, no, that one’s awful. Shit, okay. _Miles from the Space Between Your Thighs?”_

“Oh, dude, gross.”

“I know, I’m kidding. God, I don’t know. I’m not good with this distance stuff, I’ve never felt it.”

Rhett’s hands were warm and snug between his legs, but he suddenly had an urge to bring them forward across the table to take Link’s. Instead, he just shifted and said, “You don’t need to, man. Just imagine what it’d be like… What it’d feel like to leave the one you love because you have to, send letters for months with little word back, then learn from someone back home that she’s screwing some pinhead.”

“That would… suck.”

“Yeah.”

It went silent again, another moment going between them that neither really wanted to explain, even if they could. Brows furrowed, they leaned back in their chairs, lost in thought. Rhett was about to offer a suggestion when Jason emerged from the cockpit and passed by them, not even stopping as he said, “Guys. _Sandstorm Letters to a Girl Back Home._ ”

Rhett and Link looked up at him, startled, but he was gone, already passing through the long aisle of the plane, not even once looking back. They chuckled, met eyes, called after him in unison, “Thanks, Jason!” and it was settled. They’d found their title.

* * *

When they got off the plane at LAX, they shuffled on dead legs through the airport, avoiding the paps as best they could. Once outside on the curb, waiting for cabs with their few travel bags, none of the four men said much. The last thing Mike said, stretching his thick arms high, was “Call me if anything happens, otherwise take a little break, alright?” before he climbed into his car and went off, leaving Jason, Rhett, and Link to roll their eyes at him.

The cab ride back to Rhett and Link’s place was sleepy, nodding onto each other’s shoulders in the backseat, and the moment they got home, they wandered inside, patted each other’s backs, and headed off for bed, not even bothering to unpack. In the morning, late morning, anyway, they had a classic LA breakfast and listened to their favorite singer through the living room speakers as they unpacked, peeking their heads out of their separate bedrooms to tease each other every now and then.

A few days later, after they’d relaxed and adapted back to purely Californian time, Mike called them.

Rhett had his feet propped up on the living room table watching shit television, Link flipping through a magazine beside him, when their landline rung. Link stood up to get it and brought it back to the couch to answer.

“Hello?” he said.

“Link, it’s Mike. Our manager just called. Put me on speaker.” Link did. Mike continued, “The _Rolling Stone_ wants an interview about the tour and our new album. This is it! This is what we need!”

Rhett and Link looked at each other, then at the phone in Link’s hand. “But we just got home,” Rhett said.

“You’re joking, right? Come on, Rhett. They’re gonna meet us tomorrow in a coffee shop downtown, they paid the owner to reserve it for a little while.”

Link leaned into Rhett and whispered, “Can they do that?”

Rhett shrugged. Mike ignored him. “This isn’t even a question, guys. It’s happening.”

“We know,” Link replied, “We’re not opposed or anything, we’re stoked!”

“Doesn’t sound like it,” Mike snarked.

Rhett made a face at the phone, “Alright. Send a car over tomorrow, we’ll be ready.”

“Be ready by ten. Oh, and don’t wear anything too-“

“Bye Mike, see you then.” Rhett hung up and gave Link an exasperated smile. “Sometimes that guy makes being famous not fun.”

Link grinned, pink in his cheeks, “Who cares? The _Rolling Stone_ , Rhett! We’re gonna be in the _Rolling Stone!”_ Then he tackled him, wrestling him on the couch, accidentally knocking over Rhett’s mug of tea with his heel in the process.

The next day, Rhett and Link took lengthy showers, filled up on a good breakfast, and dressed their best. Rhett opted for the classic rockstar look - silver-rimmed aviators pushed up in his high, amber hair, a sharp leather jacket, a soft grey t-shirt, worn navy jeans with ripped knees, and black sneakers. Link, on the other hand, disregarded Mike’s futile warning and rocked his most ridiculous outfit. He wore a short-sleeved black mesh shirt, tight to his skin and see-through, with a skimpy red cropped tank underneath. He had one silver chain draped over his clavicle, ending in a round pendant of the tree of life, laying perfectly over his fishnet shirt. He wore faded grey jean shorts, patches and stitches over the thighs, a chain connecting his back and front pocket, and red skater-boy sneakers to match. Link wrapped a blue handkerchief in a band ‘round his head, and, though he wouldn’t tell anyone but Rhett, put some shiny, tinted lip balm on his lips to make them extra pouty. He thought about rocking some smudged black eyeliner, but decided against it. He didn’t want to overdo it, of course.

You can bet that when they emerged from their bedrooms and met in the den, they admired each other’s outfits openly. Link smiled a glossy grin at Rhett, told him he looked suave and handsome, and knocked him on the shoulder. Rhett grinned back, complimented Link on his punk rock look, especially the shirt, and nodded towards the door. “It’s almost ten,” he said. “We should go.”

Mike’s car picked them up and took them deep into the city, allowing them to continue to flirt in the back as they drove, their driver smirking knowingly.

The coffee shop that they were set to meet at, as Mike had said, was closed off. It was in a cute part of downtown, wedged between a pottery shop and a little witchy-looking place that sold gems and stones. Jason and Mike met them outside, and after Mike growled at Link for his outfit, led them inside. It was a nice place, with tables and outlets for working students and a lounge area with brown chairs and couches, artsy paintings adorning the cloudy black walls. A few potted plants kept the place lively, and in admiring it, Rhett and Link thought they might like to visit it another time.

But they had official business to get to, so the band got coffee, signed a few autographs for the shop owner’s kids, and sat around the lounge, waiting for the journalist to arrive.

She was only a few minutes late, but they didn’t mind, as she was a very beautiful woman. With sparkling mocha eyes and soft brown skin, she cast a perfect sight in a navy blouse and beige skirt, long raven hair falling in curls over one shoulder. She set her bag down, and Rhett and Link nudged each other playfully, both giving her charming smiles as she sat across from them.

“Hey, guys. The name’s Nina Marina - a great name for a journalist, I know. Rhymes like a pornstar, story of my life. But honestly, thank you for meeting with me, my paper’s been wanting to snag an interview with you for ages now, and I know you’re hot off your tour and probably pretty tired, but I’m glad we caught you when we did.”

Mike leaned forward, cocking his head playfully. “Of course, we’re honored. Getting interviewed by the _Stone_ is a big deal for guys like us.”

Nina smiled, diamond nose stud glinting in the yellow light of the shop. “Well, I would hope it’s not too big a deal, you should be used to this kind of attention by now!”

“It’s still so new for us,” Jason added, taking a sip of coffee that he most certainly needed.

“Interesting. I’d like to hear more about that. Shall we start the interview?”

Mike gestured to the table between them, on which Nina took set a little black rectangle, a recorder. She reached back in her bag for a notebook and pen, then crossed her legs daintily and took a deep breath. She flicked her golden-painted eyes up at them as she began, “So, I’m here with the Wax Paper Dogz, rising rock band, dominating the scene one state at a time, fresh off a tour. How was that for you, it was your first tour, wasn’t it?”

Rhett and Link glanced at Mike, who seemed like he wanted to answer most of the questions. They let him, sitting silently on the other end of the couch, legs touching from hip to knee.

“It was, yeah,” Mike said. “We’ve put out two albums so far, but only one really solid one, so it was good to kind of… milk it, if you know what I mean. Just take that batch of songs all over the country.”

“Makes sense,” Nina replied, “A strong start is always good.”

“You might have heard,” Mike added, clearly leading, “That we’re working on another album. We wrote most of the songs on the road, didn’t we boys?”

Jason, Rhett, and Link nodded, adding little bits of agreement, waiting to be further prompted by the journalist before giving real answers. They knew not to jump the gun.

Nina nodded, scribbling something down in her notebook. “I did hear. That’s great that you’re getting a head start, wouldn’t want to keep your fans waiting via hiatus.”

Mike grinned. “Exactly.”

“Speaking of the fans,” she said, shifting forward, earning all four pairs of eyes a glance down to her perfect bosom, whether they were attracted or not. “It’s been said that your fans have a new type of relationship with the band, a bit more… responsive. Is this true?”

Chuckling nervously, Mike glanced at Rhett and Link. “Yeah, it is. They hold up signs during our shows, it’s pretty great.”

“And what do these signs say?” Her eyes were sharp as she regarded Mike, then Jason, then Rhett and Link.

“Ah,” Mike started, rubbing a hand nervously through his hair. “All sorts of things.”

“Like?” she prompted.

“Well…” Mike was reluctant to answer, as it seemed everyone in the room knew what Miss Marina was heading for. It would have been a major embarrassment if Mike had tried to steer the conversation away, as it wouldn’t comply with the flow of the interview. So he just shifted in his seat and offered, “The usual stuff. Titles of their favorite songs, messages to any specific one of us, ‘We love you,’ that kind of thing.”

Nina twitched her maroon lips, “Of course, the usual stuff. Though, I did read, on multiple blog posts, that the fans have started calling out a specific trend.”

Rhett and Link’s hearts beat nervously, and Mike went tense at the other end of the couch. “Yeah?” he asked, “What trend?”

“They call it _‘The Rhink Phenomenon.’_ ” It was silent. Still, Nina pressed on. “Apparently, fans have assumed that you, Mr. Neal, and your guitarist here are in a romantic relationship. Rhink, so I hear, is a combination of your first names, Rhett and Link, and presenting it on signs is a clear statement that fans like the idea of you two together.”

Link went pink, and Rhett could feel his muscles tighten beside him. “Well,” he started, voice rather small. “I have heard that, yeah.”

“It’s all over,” Nina went on, keeping her eyes steady on Link. “First the blogs, then magazines, then television and radio stations. It’s a headliner, boys. Here are some of my favorites.” She glanced down at her notebook and flipped through. “ _Rhink! The New Big Thing?_ and _Rock: Love Within!_ or my personal favorite, a title from a column in _Teen Vogue:_ _Sorry, Girls, Rhett and Link of WPD are Taken - By Each Other!_ …What do you think about this?”

“What’s there to think?” Mike snapped.

“I was addressing Mr. Neal and Mr. McLaughlin, but thank you for your input, Mr. Ruiz. Well, you two, what about it?”

Rhett and Link glanced nervously at each other, suddenly very desperate to put some space between them. This wasn’t the first time they’d heard word of the phenomenon, of course not, and definitely not the first time they’d thought of it. They knew that it could either be considered a scandal or the biggest thing of the decade. There was so much riding on it, on the hope that it was real, and neither Rhett nor Link were blind to it. They saw all angles, all perspectives, including their own. They read about it in tabloids often, everyone’s questions, assumptions, but they were never… confronted. Never asked, demanded an answer. It was easy to say nothing when nobody ever asked you, but right now, in a little coffee shop in downtown Los Angeles, a pretty journalist with mischief in her dark eyes was staring them down, not giving them very much room for an out. Still, Rhett tried to find one.

He leaned forward and puffed his chest out a bit as he said, “I think the fans are going to see what they want to see, I mean, Link and I do spend a lot of time together, especially onstage. It’s not surprising that they think there’s something going on. I don’t really blame the fans, or anyone, for thinking so.”

Nina smiled, almost devilishly, “My boss told me you’d do that, answering without really answering. Tell me straight, Rhett, we have to know at this point, it’s been long enough. Are the fans making it up, seeing something that’s not there? Are you playing it up for them? Or is there really something going on, are you two really an item?”

The coffee shop went silent and tense. Rhett could feel that Mike wanted to answer, flat out deny everything, take the lead, but it seemed Jason held him down. This was Rhett and Link’s question, theirs to answer, once and for all.

“Well…” Rhett started. “We, um, we are, kind of playing it up for the fans. We’re, we’re not… We’re not really together. We’re just friends.”

The tension broke, but quietly, slowly, bringing down the house not with a scream but a whisper. Nina Marina pressed her lips together, the fire in her eyes now low burning coals. “I see. You know, that’s what we thought. Still, it would have been nice to have an iconic gay couple around, don’t you think? For the fans in that community.”

At that, Rhett’s heart spiked with hurt, more than it had the moment he denied the relationship. He hadn’t even thought about it, about their gay fans.

“Anyway, you two are single though, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am,” Rhett confirmed, something hard and sharp stuck in his chest.

“Same with me,” Link added.

“And you’ve been friends for, what, twenty years? Just about?”

Again, Rhett and Link confirmed. “That’s right.”

“So, it’s not like there was really nothing for the fans to base it off now, was there?”

“No,” Rhett answered, voice steady. “I suppose not.”

Nina closed her notebook and clicked her pen. She took another big breath and raised her eyebrows. Then she said, “Thanks for answering my questions, guys, I know how hard it must have been for you to admit that. Rumors do what rumors will, y’know? It’s good you confirmed it, though. This interview will save a lot of people a lot of questions.” She moved to stand, but Mike finally spoke and stopped her.

“That’s it? You’re not going to ask about our new album or anything?”

“I assume it’ll be great, Mr. Ruiz. I have full confidence in you, in all four of you. I hope you do well, wherever you go. Look for this interview in the next edition of the _Stone_ , it’ll be a full two pages. Thank you for your time.”

And then she was taking her recorder, notebook, and bag, and clicking on cream kitten heels out of the shop.

She left the band with tensions between them, sour tastes in their mouths. It was quiet for a moment, their drinks gone cold, before Mike stood up and left without another word. Jason, who had said near to nothing in the interview, looked at Rhett and Link.

“I’m so sorry, guys,” he said. “That was… Not the way it should have gone.” He clapped them both on the shoulder then stood, passing by the starstruck owner and giving his thanks before pushing through the glass door, charming golden bell jingling as he left.

Rhett and Link, not for the first or last time, were then left alone to hurt.

* * *

In the week following the interview, things were different. Mike didn’t want to talk to them, not yet, which they didn’t really mind. Naturally, between them, things had shifted yet again. Neither Rhett nor Link were sure if they were allowed to flirt anymore. They were no longer pressed with stagetime, so they didn’t really have the opportunity to in front of fans, but they were still wary amongst each other. What were the rules now? What was considered real, and what was fake? The lines of their relationship had crossed and blurred all throughout the tour, but now it was over, and they didn’t know what they were allowed. If it were up to them, they’d say fuck the interview and continue on, flirty as ever, but it wasn’t up to them. They’d confirmed that they’d lived a lie, and as soon as the interview came out, they could no longer fall into the safety of it. There was no longer a zone of maybe, of perhaps. It was just them, the truth, and the fans. And they could only count down the days until all three snapped.

Fortunately, they still got along well. They weren’t mad at each other, as they had no reason to be, but they didn’t speak of the interview, or at least not that _part_ of it. Worse yet, they still hadn’t mentioned, to each other, the idea of them together, even though they’d now talked about it to and with other people. It was tense, and a bit uncomfortable, and while they got through it well enough, it still hurt.

And, like salt to the wound, Rhett couldn’t get what the journalist said out of his head: _Gay icons, for the fans in that community._ He’d been so caught up in his own relationship with Link that he didn’t even think about the fans’ relationship with it. Sure - they liked the idea of them together, but what would that have meant? If their fans who grew up crushing on their best friends, wondering if they were gay or not, had two handsome, successful guys to relate to? What if they’d spent so many nights listening to the Dogz’ music, dreaming of a world in which they could dance on stars with their crush?

Rhett would stay up at his desk at night, only one lamp to light his nervous hands, asking himself these kinds of painful questions, wondering if there were fans that would read their interview and lose all hope for feeling normal. Some sliver of him still believed that they’d understand, they’d stick by them, romantic relationship or not, but putting himself in their situation, he wasn’t so sure.

He dropped his head in his hands, tears welling in his eyes, heart breaking. He didn’t want to confirm that they were just friends, hell, he couldn’t even say it to himself, let alone the world. But he had to, he _had_ to, because that’s what they were. They were just friends. Two single guys. They were best friends, of course, but that’s all they were. How could he be so stupid to think otherwise? It was hard enough to classify his own relationship with Link, how could he expect the world to, and to be respectful about it?

That first night, after the interview, he didn’t sleep. He just stayed in his room, at his desk, and thought all night. It was nearly five in the morning by the time he passed out, and when he did, it was a blissful, dreamless sleep. He didn’t know that Link had passed by his room the night before and seen the light under his door. He didn’t know that Link was just as heartbroken, not just for them, but what they’d done. He didn’t know, he just let himself go numb, trying his best to forget the oncoming storm.

Now, both Rhett and Link had confirmed that there was no _Eternal Blue Treehouse Love_ between them, nor anything akin to _Darling, Let’s Crash Paris._ Their songs may have been made from heavy, romantic love, but their brand was not, and the two had to suffer the truth with only empty, friendly space between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enter an actual female character, for once, my goodness... Also, fun fact, my sister's name is Nina (pronounced nine-ah), and when I sent her a pic of her name in the fic, she said, "Don't write me into your porno." Like, um? It's not a porno! ...not yet, anyway.
> 
> Also idk if you're feeling it but like, it's gonna start hurting pretty soon. I mean, it's only fair, right? We've had the calm before the storm, now it's time for the takeover, the break's over.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The park, as usual, was an oasis against the dry, cement desert.

“I think we need some air,” Link said.

They’d been lounging around the house ever since the interview, and it seemed that they had both sunk into the same depressive episode, not necessarily sad but just… tired. They were tired of Mike, of fearing the interview. They were tired of the storms within them, twisting up in their worried stomachs, and they were tired of being rockstars, honestly, if this is what it meant. And, as much as they hated it, they’d done some research and figured that the article would come out soon, within the next few days. They were left to wonder how the fans would react, though they were pretty sure it wouldn’t be good.

Rhett was leaning back in his favorite living room chair, feet up on the coffee table, when Link nudged his hip with his knee and proposed they go out.

“We could get lunch and take a walk in the park. It could be nice.”

“That sounds great, Link.” Rhett looked up at him, his eyes sadder than Link would like, but beautiful all the same. He raised himself from his chair and stepped beside Link, immediately towering over him. They regarded each other for a moment, silent, eyes locked, before Rhett stepped around Link and said, “We probably should wear hats or something. I really don’t feel like being recognized today.”

Link turned and called after him, “Don’t hold your breath.”

All the same, he took Rhett’s advice, since he didn’t want to be noticed either. While he usually opted for a signature Link Neal style, a pit punk, definitely sexy, with tight, hip-hugging jeans and something black, today, he dressed down. He threw on some faded, loose grey jeans, a simple green tee, and a navy sweatshirt, as well as a ball cap. He didn’t spend too long grooming himself or anything, and instead sat in the living room to tie up his sneakers. Rhett met him there, also rocking civilian casual. He’d gone for a light blue shirt under a grey windbreaker and charcoal sweats. He tucked his amber hair up into a black cap with white lettering. Rhett shoved his hands in his pockets as he stood before Link.

They’d seen each other dressed down more than they’d seen each other dressed up, but there was still something intimate about it, especially when going out in public. Before and during college, they’d go out in sweats all the time, getting lunch looking like they’d just rolled out of bed, sometimes not even changing their t-shirts. And, when they’d first moved to California with the band, they’d surf in the morning and hit the pizza parlor by noon, padding in with sandy bare feet, board shorts, and tank tops. Then, when they started getting popular, they started to tune their appearances, their “look.” Even just going out at night required some kind of grooming, something that matched, that fit. It was rare for them, especially now, to go out in public without looking their rockstar best, ready to be swarmed by fans or the paparazzi at any second.

But right now, it was what they needed. They needed to forget about the tour, the interview, songwriting, fame. They were on hiatus, worried about their next move, and they needed to just… chill. Take a day to step away, fall back into their friendship. So that’s what they did. Rhett and Link left their house with nothing but their keys, wallets, and cellphones, and walked along their neighborhood streets towards the main road. They then caught the bus, keeping their heads turned down, hunching themselves over so their massive heights didn’t give them away, and jumped off with only a few mutters from perceptive teenagers. Downtown now, they walked in silence to their favorite local diner, just enjoying the sunny afternoon. It was a favorite spot not only for its soups and fresh bread, but the owner knew them as regulars, not as rockstars, and he didn’t make a fuss whenever they stopped by.

They took a booth in the corner and ordered the same things they always did - a thick burger and fries for Rhett and a chicken pasta for Link. They decided not to order alcoholic drinks, as it was still the afternoon and there was no need to, and settled on soft drinks instead. By the time their food came, they were already chatting easily, back to their old ways. As they ate and smiled at each other, it was like the past few years hadn’t really happened. They were still goofy college guys, eating their meals far too quickly, downing their drinks and requesting another before they could let them settle. When they were stuffed and happy, they leaned back and grinned at each other. For the first time in about two weeks, they finally felt at peace. And as much as they didn’t want to leave the comfort of the back booth, the safe space between them, they craved a walk in the park. So, leaving a hearty tip and a few small waves at the wide-eyed mothers who recognized them, they left the diner and headed back out and into the city.

As they walked, Link let himself think. The last two weeks, for him, had been an incredible mess of emotions, including, but not limited to, those regarding Rhett. He knew that Rhett was hurting, specifically upset that he was the one to confirm the lie, and in his quiet sadness, he let a rift grow between them. Neither of young rockstars were sure if they were allowed to flirt anymore, even in the comfort of their own home. It was like they’d pushed their boundaries far enough, and all they could do was let it go back to brothers, unsaid. It was safer that way. Because of this, Link felt more insecure than ever. It seemed he’d gone out on a limb, initiated the onstage flirting, the heavy hearteyes, and it all went to shit. It was his fault that the tension rippled between them, and he was ashamed of himself. He couldn’t have just let it sit, could he? He had to push and push, ask Rhett for more than he could give. He bent the barrier of acceptable behavior and let his fans believe in a lie. It shouldn’t have hurt so much, but it did. He was supposed to be an icon, and he let them all down. Even Rhett.

Walking now, passing pretty ladies and their dogs and groups of men hollering at them, Link thought that he’d love nothing more than to lace his fingers with Rhett’s as they went, not so much as a public display of affection, but a small, physical sign that he was there, that they’d brace the storm together. He didn’t, of course. They just pressed close when people brushed by them, kept their heads down, and turned into the park quickly, eager to get out of the open city streets.

The park, as usual, was an oasis against the dry, cement desert. Where the city was beige and grey and square, the park was colorful and low. The bright blue afternoon sky met the green fields and tips of trees, city buildings gracing the horizon in the distance. Stone pathways snaked through large areas of grass, and a few fountains had the place smelling like metallic water. Benches were placed here and there, as well as trees and flowerbeds, but mostly, it was open space. There was a specific pathway, though, that spanned the entire park, around the pond, and led through the most shaded region, where tall trees lined the stone and cast the grey in navy shadows. That’s what Rhett and Link took now, starting at one end, taking their time to walk all the way through and back, should they need to. A few minutes into their stroll, they both relaxed into the near privacy and found it safe enough to raise their faces to each other to speak.

“This is nice,” Link offered. Easy. Safe.

“Yeah. I missed it.” Rhett’s arms knocked against Link’s as they went, sneakers moving slow over the park path.

Link let himself admire his friend, at his sharp features and strong profile against the urban background. His beard looked so handsome in the afternoon shadows, and the few streams of sun that made it past the brim of his ball cap cast his eyelashes a sweet gold. Even like this, hiding from the public in a windbreaker and sweatpants, he was gorgeous. Though, Link might be biased. He’d love him in anything. Hell, he’d even love him in nothing.

Smiling, cheeks going tight, Link looked up at Rhett and teased, “Hard to take a simple stroll in the park when you’re famous, isn’t it?”

Rhett laughed, but it was almost hollow. He kept his eyes down. “Famous. Who’d ever think we’d be famous?”

“I did,” Link said. They swerved around a jogger who had stopped to tie her shoe. “In high school. I mean, I didn’t know, but I hoped. I always thought we had great… potential. Or something.”

That made Rhett smile, but it was still small. He raised his eyes to Link, though, and that’s all he needed. “You know, before I met you, when I was in kindergarten, I thought I was missing something. Like I was a part of something, a duo, that I hadn’t yet found the other half of.” Turning his gaze on the fountain in the distance, his voice went low, “And then I found you.”

Link went warm, grinning at the ground. He let the silence pass between them, comfortable this time. He felt Rhett smile beside him, nudge him with his shoulder, and he looked up again. Love in his eyes, Link asked, “You think we would have made it this far if we weren’t a team?”

Rhett’s strong brow furrowed. “Oh no, definitely not. Even if we did want to start bands, we wouldn’t have found the right people. I need a strong singer, and you need a skilled guitarist.”

“And what about Mike and Jason?”

“Well, they’re extra.”

“Rhett!”

“No, okay, they’re not. They’re important too. But you have to admit, bo, it’s always been the two of us. We’re a force.”

Link went dizzy with love at the affectionate name, something special that they hadn’t called each other since they were kids. It reminded him of the good, early days, before management, before the collective public, before interviews. He started to say something back, something that may have crossed the line, “Rhett-“ but a presence nearing them and a sweet, young voice cut him off.

“Rhett! Link!”

Both men bristled, prepared for impact, but the person bearing the voice seemed gentle and respectful. It was two girls and a little boy, the boy clinging to one of the girl’s necks as she held him. She smiled at them, and quickly apologized. “Sorry for interrupting you, I just had to come say hello and didn’t know how to get your attention. I’m sure you must hate that, though, sorry again.”

Link looked down at her and felt Rhett do the same. She must have been about nineteen, the boy in her arms maybe four or five. Dressed for the weather with a tank top and capri pants, golden hair tied back in a long ponytail, she looked young and excited to see them, but not shy at all. Her friend, on the other hand, seemed timid, as she couldn’t quite meet their eyes. She must have been from out of town, too, since she wore a pink sweater and long black pants, unsure how to dress for the Californian heat. The boy was cute and round and small, his face tucked into the girl’s shoulder. Link gave them a gracious smile, staying silent, as Rhett rose up high with confidence, taking the lead.

“It’s no trouble, we’re used to it. It’s usually worse, honestly.”

The girl shifted the boy on her hip. “Well, I’m sorry all the same. Do you have a minute?”

Link didn’t feel like taking photos or signing autographs, no matter how pretty the girls were, and he rubbed the back of his neck as he said, “We’re trying to lay low.”

“Oh, I understand. We don’t want pictures or anything. I was just wondering if maybe you’d… be willing to talk? We’ve wanted to meet the Dogz for so long, and I’d love to hear what it’s been like for you, how the tour went.”

There was something pleasant and easy about the girl, and while her friend was quiet beside her, Link felt that she respected them both. She gave them distance and didn’t press them for attention. Looking to Rhett for his opinion, Link was met with warm, familiar crinkles at the corners of Rhett’s eyes - a sign of comfort and ease, just what they needed. He waited, and Rhett spoke.

“Wow, I’m - that’s so kind of you. Sure, we can talk for a bit, right Link? Should we sit on the grass?” The girl nodded, and Rhett then led them off the main path and towards the park lawn, where the two groups sat at a safe and comfortable distance under a tree. They had never done something like this, especially not to take personal time out of their day to meet a fan, but the girl didn’t seem malicious or intense in the slightest. It was nice.

As they sat, the little boy plopped down between the girl’s legs and began busying himself with handfuls of grass. Link decided to break the silence, navigating the early awkwardness as best he could.

“So, what are your names?”

“I’m Sandy, this is my friend Kim,” she pulled the wiggly toddler back into her lap, “and this is my little brother, Thomas.”

Rhett wiggled his fingers in Thomas’s face, and he bashfully looked away.

“You said you wanted to talk about the tour, did you make any of the shows?” Link asked.

Sandy brushed her long golden ponytail over one shoulder, Thomas still squirming in her lap. “I wanted to see y’all in San Francisco, but it was sold out. I couldn’t make it anywhere else, not with this little guy, so I sort of just had to cruise by the chatrooms to see how it went. But you’re here now, so I might as well ask you directly. This was your first big tour, right? How did it go?”

Link settled back into the grass, Rhett warm and present beside him. Unlike the interview with the _Rolling Stone_ , Sandy asked them so kindly, as if she had their genuine feelings in mind. She was open and kind and nonthreatening. It was a surprise to meet someone who was so comfortable talking to them, wondering how it felt for them, like they were honestly interested in their experiences as performers, _people._ There was no screaming, no blushing, and no interrogations about their relationship. That was the best part, honestly. Even if she was one of the many female fans to think they were together, as she seemed just the right age for it, she didn’t let on about it, and instead was respectful, not mentioning their relationship at all. It was a nice change, and Link was happy they’d taken the time to talk to her. He was smiling softly, lost in thought, when he realized Rhett had already begun to answer the question.

“…second album, much more popular than the first. It was cool to have so many people know the words to every song. We’d done shows like that before, obviously, concerts, but not so many in succession. Every night, it was a new batch of fans, new energy. Some nights were better than others, but some were _amazing_. The big cities especially. Incredibly reactive, the atmosphere electric and alive. It was like everyone was feeling the same high, sort of, and they let it carry them wherever we decided to take it.” Rhett stopped himself before he went off on a tangent, laughing. “It was great, is what I’m trying to say.”

Link watched him as he bent his long legs in and shifted the brim of his cap nervously. He was so amazing, even like this. As soon as prompted, he would light up, and go on, so passionate, so wonderstruck. Even when hiding away, maybe even a bit disappointed, Rhett would always glow. It was incredible, and both the girls and Link basked in it.

“That’s amazing, I wish I was there. I’ve been to your shows before, so I know what you mean. When you play certain songs, it’s like the whole crowd just _knows_ , gosh… I bet it feels great to be up there when it’s like that.”

Rhett passed the torch to Link with a nudge of his shoulder. Link took it gratefully, letting the flame bloom in his chest. “I don’t even know how to describe it. I didn’t think I’d be one for performing when we were little, but now it’s like I can’t go without it. Singing out to a huge crowd, hundreds of lighters in the air, knowing all those people are there for _you_ , to hear _you_ because they’ve… I don’t know, had a connection with your music or something… It’s truly a dream come true, that’s it.”

Rhett continued, “Though, I gotta say, it can be hard. When you play so many shows like that, it really wears you out. I mean, we love it, duh, but it’s just a lot to handle. I couldn’t imagine how the major pop stars do world tours, away from home for a year or more. It’s crazy.”

“Funny you should mention that, actually,” Sandy said, “Kim doesn’t live here, she’s visiting from Seoul. Apparently, in Korea, you guys have a hidden audience. Underground, kind of. Like if you’re one of the few people who know about this American punk band, you’re cool. I mean, I’d think you’re cool here, but even cooler there. Actually, I’ll let Kim tell you, don’t let me take over.”

Kim, who’d said nothing up until this moment, attention turned to the people milling about across the park, shifted in the grass and tucked strand of straight raven hair behind her pierced ear. She looked at them, fiddling with the charm on her necklace as she spoke, definitely more shy than Sandy, but trying all the same. “Yeah, it is interesting. There are some people who don’t speak English at all but listen to it anyway, they like the sounds. And sometimes people will just wear your shirts just because they think they look cool, the band logo and the name, the same way people here like wearing Korean or Japanese words. It’s like the two cultures don’t really know how to blend, but they admire each other from a distance. Then there are fans like me, who do speak English and understand the lyrics. …Well, sometimes. Most of the time, I don’t know what you’re saying.”

Rhett, Link, and Sandy laughed. “Nobody does,” Rhett confessed. “Not even us.”

A breeze then came through the park, carrying with it the fresh smell of the trees. It was calming, bringing ease and confidence, and Link nudged his head playfully against Rhett’s shoulder, testing. Rhett leaned back, saying quietly, voice low, “Hey, buddy.” Link beamed up at him, uncaring how blissfully smitten he must have looked, and when he pulled back, Sandy and Kim were smiling at them knowingly. They said nothing of it, though.

The park was nice in the silence, a few voices carrying along the sunbeams. Little boys and their dogs played frisbee on the grass, and couples leaned into each other (not unlike Rhett and Link) under the trees. There was a group of women doing yoga, an old man throwing bread crumbs into the center pond, and a street artist just outside the park borders grinding pastel chalk into the street. The colors of the park rippled in the heat as the city continued on around it, busy. The people had places to be, but Rhett and Link didn’t, and they just enjoyed the moment, pointing to things around the afternoon scene and commenting on them, making the two young girls laugh. It was easy, light chatter, a break from the questions, and it was wonderful. Eventually, Kim did ask a question, bringing the smalltalk back to a point.

She pushed her soft pink sleeves up her arms, revealing smooth, pale skin, a black pattern tattoo on her wrist. Her cheeks were flushed from laughter and the heat, and Sandy admired her as she spoke. “I read that you’re writing a new album? Any behind the scenes info you can give us about that? Or would that violate some contract?” She raised a dark brow, revealing a tint of lavender color around her eyes.

Rhett leaned forward, stretching out his massive back. “No contract, just… a bandmate. But yeah, we have been working on something. It’s coming along pretty well, but it’s not totally done. Actually, Link and I were - oh, hey little guy.” As Rhett spoke, Thomas had boldly crawled forward and into Rhett’s lap. Rhett looked to Sandy for consent, to which she nodded, before he touched him, situating him on his knee, big hands massive on his little body. He bounced him gently, smiling with balled cheeks and soft eyes.

Link watched him, something deep inside him stirring at the sight. Rhett was loving, of course, and very supportive, but it was only just now that was Link really hit with what a wonderful father Rhett would make. He would be so charming and kind, he’d cherish his kids and be silly with them, take them on adventures. He’d tell them stories from his rockstar days and just grin big, laughing heartily, when his children's friends came over and paraded around him, starstruck. His big body would curl around his little kids on sleepy Sunday mornings, and he’d take them to parks, not unlike this one. When they were grown, he’d set them free, support them in whatever they wanted to do, music or no. Link felt dizzy just thinking about it.

They were young, far too young and busy to think about kids for either one of them, but Link couldn’t help but wonder as he watched Rhett take Thomas’s chubby wrists in his long fingers, making him dance to soundless music. Link went warm with the thought, and he let himself drown in it. He supposed that maybe, somewhere down the line, after their fame had passed and they could settle down, he’d have the opportunity to see Rhett as a father, even if not one to Link’s children. He’d be by his side, whatever path he chose, fatherhood or no, and Link knew he’d succeed at any route he fancied. And who knows, maybe Rhett’s kids would love him just a sliver as much as they loved their incredible father.

He zoned back in as Thomas stilled his squirming and wrenched his arms from Rhett’s grasp, shuffling down in his big lap and curling up like a kitten. Rhett let his hand rest on his back as he regarded Sandy once again. “Does he like our music?”

Sandy crossed her legs and said, “I’m always listening, and he’s usually with me, so he’s no stranger to it.”

“Does he have a favorite song?” Link asked.

“I don’t know. Thomas, do you?”

Thomas roused in Rhett’s lap, but otherwise said nothing.

“I think he does, he’s just tired. We’ve been talking for a while.” Sandy sighed, “I hate to say it, but I think we should be going. It’s been so nice to talk to guys, though, really. More than I can say.”

She picked her bother out of Rhett’s lap and slung him over her shoulder. He immediately nestled in, and she stood as slowly as she could. Kim followed, lean legs unfolding from under her gracefully. Rhett and Link followed, immediately towering over the two girls. Link tugged the brim of his cap as Rhett brushed the dirt and grass from his rear.

“Thank you for taking the time to talk to us. I’m sure you didn’t want to see any fans today, and I don’t blame you.”

Link gave her an honest smile, “You three aren’t like any fans we’ve met. Respectful and unafraid and genuine. It reminds us, well, me, I can’t speak for Rhett, why we do what we do.”

“Yeah, it’s the same for me. Sometimes it can be intense, so it’s nice to talk to normal people,” Rhett chuckled, as if he wasn’t sure he should insinuate their fans were abnormal or not.

Sandy seemed to understand, though, and she shifted her brother on her shoulder and looked to Kim. “Well, I’m glad. We really did want to meet you. Anyway, I hope you both have a great day! Enjoy your walk in the park!” She then turned, leaving Kim to say goodbye before she followed. Rhett and Link watched them leave, a bit starstruck. When the the girls were far enough away, just two white and pink dots against the green and grey of the city park, Rhett and Link turned to each other.

“That was surprisingly…” Link started.

“Pleasant,” Rhett finished.

“Have we ever had fans talk to us like that?”

“What, like we were actual people, with hopes and fears and feelings? Definitely not.”

Link smiled and looked at the ground, unsure what else to say. He wasn’t lying before. Their interaction with the girls really did remind him of why they did what they did. Sure, it got stressful, sometimes terrifying, as if every move they made would be analyzed within an inch of its truth, but then were those fans that genuinely admired them for what they did and cared about them as people. They may have had an emotional, maybe even spiritual, connection with the music, listening to it in times of severe distress or, perhaps, even lust, but when it came down to meeting the men who created and recorded it, they treated them with grace and respect. Rhett and Link were people, as well as musicians, and it was nice to be reminded of that. It went unsaid between them that the fan interaction had taken their pleasant walk in the park from a need to get away to a reminder of why they press on, and they fell back into step.

They went through the rest of the park easily, talking about whatever they fancied, not lingering too long on any one subject. They said hi to a few more people who recognized them, pet some dogs that came to sniff at their high crotches, and left the park feeling at ease and refreshed. Of course, nothing lasts forever, and their comfort didn’t stick around.

* * *

By the time they took the bus back to their neighborhood and strolled up to their house, they found Mike parked outside, leaning against the hood of his car. He didn’t look happy. Then again, he never did.

Rhett and Link approached cautiously, knowing why he was there. They hadn’t seen him since the interview, and given the furrowed state of his dark brows, he had come to talk about it. He was wearing dark sunglasses, but they knew he was peering at them with sharp eyes as they walked up, naturally putting a bit of friendly distance between them, coming to stand before him.

“Hey, Mike,” Rhett said. “You, uh, you need somethin’?”

“We’ll talk inside.”

“Right. Okay, well follow me, then.” Rhett moved past Mike and to the steps of he and Link’s house. It was a nice place, nestled between two similar houses in a quiet LA neighborhood. Their neighbors knew who they were, but were too old to care. Sometimes, though, they asked Rhett and Link to sign CDs or magazines for their grandkids, leaving them a basket of cookies in return. There were no cookies today, only the welcome mat and two potted plants at either side of the front steps.

Rhett walked up them at a neutral pace, not hesitant, but not eager, and Link knew that was his way of hinting at a level head. The chat in the park had healed him, it seemed, and he was ready to approach the situation calmly. Well, given that Mike did the same. He took the keys from his pocket and unlocked the door, a small act that Link found somewhat sentimental: they both had keys to the home they shared. Rhett lived with him, shared his whole life with him, from the washer and dryer to their sparkling career. It was intimate, but also terrifying. If anything was going to happen with them, between them, Link couldn’t run away back to his house and lock Rhett out. Rhett would be there, and Link knew Rhett wouldn’t let him hide away in his room forever.

Link thought about this, drifting off from the situation at hand, as he followed behind Mike and up and into his house. He closed the door behind him and brought himself back to present. He couldn’t think about him and Rhett right now, he needed to hear what Mike had to say, even if he had a feeling he knew what it would be.

Rhett lead Mike through the hallway and into the den, awkwardly gesturing towards the couch and chairs. Mike didn’t move, but he did take his glasses off, folding them and tucking them into the collar of his shirt. He held Rhett’s gaze steady and crossed his arms. Rhett matched the movement, holding himself tall in the center of the room. Link watched the stance, like two male lions from the same pride, one threatening the other with a silent protest. Link shuffled in awkwardly, the brother lion who might have to keep the peace should a fight break out, and moved to stand behind Rhett. He put his paw - hand - on Rhett’s shoulder. Rhett turned, eyes tender. Link held the moment, just to ground him, then looked over Rhett at Mike, who seemed to stiffen at Link’s friendly touch. “Do you want something to drink?” Link asked him.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

Just as Link was about to lead him to the kitchen, Mike turned and did it himself. He left Rhett and Link to share a questionable look as he shuffled into the kitchen and began opening their cupboards and drawers. He didn’t say anything as he checked the fridge, and the two lions in the den gave up. They sat themselves on the couch, keeping their knees apart, and let the tension set in. It was another moment of silence, Mike rummaging through the utensil drawer, a jar of peanut butter in the other hand, before Link spoke again.

“So what did you want to talk to us about?”

“Oh,” Mike said, finding a spoon and shutting the drawer with his hip. “Nothing too bad.”

Link didn’t believe him, but lightened his tone all the same. “That’s good. We haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Mhm.” He uncapped the jar, which was specifically Link’s, mind you, and spooned a hearty load into his mouth. He stared them down as he chewed, working it with his tongue slowly, rising the tension again.

“What have you been doing?” Rhett offered. Link could see his hand clenching against his thigh, and he prayed to any deity that existed that Rhett remained safe and peaceful in his previous comfort, unbothered by Mike’s childish power play. He couldn’t be sure he’d last, though.

Mike was still working the peanut butter, so Rhett tried again. “Hope you’ve been relaxing. We all need to, post-tour aftercare, y’know?”

Their drummer seemed to consider this, as he raised his brows and nodded. He capped Link’s peanut butter and set it on the counter, along with the sticky spoon. He then turned back around and went to the cupboard again. This time, however, he spoke. “I think the tour went well, for what it’s worth. I had a good time.”

Rhett and Link shared another confused glance as Mike’s back was turned, but resumed their attention when he looked back, glass in hand. He went to the sink for some water as he continued. “We played some good shows, raised some good energy. An overall success.” He turned off the filtered tap and brought the glass to lips, taking a long drink. He downed half the glass in one, then set in on the counter. He sighed. “Which is why I’m so disappointed that I have to do this again.”

Neither Rhett nor Link asked what he meant. They knew, and they let him do it.

“I’m getting really tired of confronting you two like this, it’s redundant. But I feel like you won’t get the point if I don’t, and Lord knows Jason won’t help. So here I am, standing before you, once again, asking you to get it together.” He rubbed the rim of the glass with his finger, pressing his lips together and keeping his gaze low, as if he couldn’t even be bothered to look at them. It was infuriating, for both Rhett and Link, and Link could feel Rhett’s tension beside him. He wanted to put a hand on his thigh, which, in all honesty, wouldn’t be the first time, but Mike had a full view of the living room from the kitchen, and he’d see it. And, given his state, he’d probably call them out on it. So Link just wedged his hand under his own thigh and prayed the interrogation wouldn’t last long.

“You know how much I love our band. It’s come so far, _we’ve_ come so far. And it sucks, no, it _hurts_ , to see its potential thrown away like this.”

Finally, Rhett said something. His voice was small and quiet, and he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees as he said, “It’s not being thrown away.”

“Yes, Rhett. It is. We used to mean something, we used to make good music. Now, though, it doesn’t even matter. Because of you two, none of it matters.” Mike spread out his hands on the counter, arms stiff, shoulders sagging. The space between the three of them was tense, waiting. Mike was going to snap soon, and they all knew it. “All anybody cares about anymore,” he said, eyes on the counter, “is if you two are fucking. You let them believe that you were, even though you’re not, and it got out of hand. It was such a ridiculous lie that even one of the leading magazines in music believed it. And they called us, gave us all a chance to really hype up our brand, our next album, and all they asked about… was you. Your little fantasy has become such a _thing_ that nobody, not even the _Stone,_ cares about our music anymore.”

“That’s not true,” Link countered, thinking of the fans they met in the park.

“That interview could have been our chance, boys. It could have been everything. But instead, we had to confirm your lie, or ‘Mr McLaughlin _’_ over here had to, and now everything is going to shit. I suppose it had to, though. If you’d kept it up, we would have been completely buried under it, but if you came out with the truth, which you did, we’d lose our fans, or least a good chunk of them. Is that what you wanted?”

“No-“

“Because that’s what’s going to happen. The interview will come out, everyone will see it, and they’ll know that you lied you them. You lied to all of them. For what? Was it fun for you? Did you like to prance around the stage and shake your ass at each other? Did you tell all those screaming girls outside the gates that you made out between sets? Why would you do that? Why would build up their hope like that?”

“We didn’t-“

“No, stop. You don’t get to defend yourself this time. This is the end, right now. For too long, I put up with it, Jason did, even our goddamn managers did. But I won’t anymore. The truth will come out, and we have to be ready for it. I’m not going to let your sick little game take away what I’ve put so much energy and effort into. We’re going to lose fans - fine. We have others, those that will really stick to our content. That is, if we can make it. So I’m begging you. Rhett, Link, guys. Please just finish the album. We have a solid batch of almost-songs, but they’re not ready yet. You need to finish them off, polish them. And I doubt it’s possible, given how you probably don’t even care anymore, but if you could also write some more. What we have now is… Well, it’s a good start, but I want more. I want fifteen quality songs, one of which that has to be good enough to be a single. That means one or two more from each of you.”

Rhett’s voice broke through, stern. “Mike.”

Mike ignored him. “The songs we have now - it’s clear you’re struggling. So if you could, if you really care about this band, our kingdom, then you’ll get your heads out of your asses and go back to the music. Remember what we did this for, how it felt to blow the lights out because we rocked the garage too hard. Remember how it feels to be onstage, what it means to tell our story. We’re going to be on hiatus a while, I assume, and much of it, unfortunately, is going to be damage control. So while I’m doing that, trying to convince those fans that choose to stick around that what we have to give is worth it, you need to prove it to me. You’re going to fix this mess you’ve gotten us into, alright? That’s all I have to say.” He then went silent, holding both of them to the couch with the intensity of his glare, challenging them to speak. They didn’t. Satisfied, he stepped away from the counter and moved through the living room silently. When he got to the edge of the carpet, he turned. “Don’t let me down. Not again.” Then he left them, walking through the hallway and letting himself out. The front door slammed heavily, and the silence set in.

Rhett and Link didn’t know what to say. There was no point in relieving the tension by making some joke about how angry Mike was, how he had no place to suddenly become their manager. This was serious, and they knew it. Mike had pressed them for all they’d done and made them both uncomfortable on purpose. He left a rift in their home, between their knees on the couch, and they couldn’t turn to each other and comfort each other with physical touch, not after that. Not after Mike had so clearly confirmed what they’d feared they’d done. He was relentless, just as he needed to be. It was just terrible because now, it was even worse between them. What they thought they’d healed with lunch and a walk in the park was torn once again, back to tender, unspoken wounds. And now, even if they did start dating, rise from the rubble of this public mess with a secret relationship, it’d be more confusing than ever. So there was no point in trying, no point in taking the tense, empty moment to really turn to each other and ask, “So do _you_ think we were faking it?” There would be none of that, no heartfelt discussion or confessions. They wouldn’t revolt against Mike’s anger with a soft kiss, a brush of hands. No, they let it hang. They let themselves sink into the guilt - _why did we even go along with it?_ There was nothing there. Absolutely nothing. That’s what they told themselves, anyway. It was safer than hoping.

It was quiet for a moment before Rhett stood from the couch and looked down at Link. He took his ball cap off and ran his fingers through his hair as he said, “Mike’s right, Link. We need to get back to the music. We need to work on the album.”

Link nodded, “Okay,” and regarded his friend, his face. It was strange to see Rhett like this - so many faces all at once. In those familiar eyes, that soul, he saw his lifelong friend, his brother. Within that same person was the love of his life, his desperate desire. On top of that, Rhett was his bandmate and his coworker. They needed to work together, as this was their job. Link swallowed. _This is our job._

Rhett turned and left the living room, walking down another hall and towards his bedroom. Link’s stomach twisted. He was also his roommate, and all their tensions, their complexities, were just a hallway apart from colliding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That juxtaposition tho... Also, idk how y'all feel about Mike, but I really don't blame him for his disappointment, I just think he could go about it better. Like if he sat them down individually and asked what was really going on, instead of demanding an answer out of both of them at the same time, making them uncomfortable. Anyway, this chapter is pretty much the midway point of the story, and from here on out, it's gonna be mostly Rhett and Link's dynamic explored lmao, not like that hasn't been the whole thing skfjghdfkgjh


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He knew the kids weren’t alright, but he didn’t want to believe it.

Soon after Mike confronted them, the dreaded interview came out. Rhett and Link were subscribed to the _Rolling Stone_ , of course, so when it slipped through their mail slot, Rhett picked it up on his way to make his morning coffee and immediately went to Link. Without knocking, he pushed his bedroom door open and went to sit at the edge of his bed. Link was still asleep, but Rhett knew he’d want to be woken for this, so he called to him softly. Link awoke, disgruntled, but snapped to attention when Rhett held up the issue. Link looked up at Rhett, worry in his sleepy eyes, and Rhett gave him a small, comforting smile.

They spent that morning sitting on Link’s bed and reading it together. They were silent and tense as they read, only ever commenting on the details and small mention of their appearances, bandmates, and music history. When they got to the question about their relationship, they said nothing, and Rhett closed the magazine gently as soon as they’d finished. He sat for a moment, put a hand on Link’s shoulder, then left. They didn’t talk about it after that.

The interview, in itself, was a bit fabricated. A lot of what they’d said had either been paraphrased or extended, which made sense, given how few questions they had to answer. It opened with a bit of background on the band, on their first two albums, their tour, and their sound. A little rundown of the members followed, which was nice to read, as the writer compared them to artists that everyone of The Wax Paper Dogz admired. There was quick word about the coffee shop the interview was held in and what the boys were wearing, as well as what they’d ordered to drink, and a shout out to Nina Marina, their interviewer. Then the questions started, some of which hadn’t even been asked. Simple, easy things like _How does it feel to be on the rise?_ or,  _You’ve really gained a young teenage following, how does that affect your music?_ Their answers were accurate, thankfully, but definitely not verbatim. The article’s author had strung together something that sounded right, and it passed. It was a good interview, not too long, and a good representation of their band as something worthy of interest. However, the question about Rhett and Link’s perceived romance made it clear that there was no grey area, it was either yes or no. And now, right there, in black ink, in a popular music magazine that all their fans would see, was no. They weren’t together, never had been, and would never be. The boys were best friends, a singer and a guitarist, blood brothers. Nothing romantic, nothing sexual. It was plain and direct, and as Rhett and Link read, they could feel the hopes of their fans sink deeper with every word. They couldn’t stop it, though. It was done.

The article closed with a bit of discussion about it, actually, which made it worse. It talked of why assuming these kinds of relationships between celebrities, same gender or no, was a bit risky. You could never be sure, the article said, if what they act, sing, or say is true. And here, in this case, it wasn’t. The Dogz should just stick to songs about the girl next door from now on, it said, as it would save a lot of fans a lot of trouble. The last sentence, fortunately, mentioned their upcoming album, which was nice, but didn’t do much. The majority of the article was about Rhett and Link, and no half-assed promo would negate that.

After reading the interview, Rhett and Link gave themselves the day. They didn’t force any sort of writing or public appearances and even avoided each other as much as they could. By dinnertime, Jason called them and said that Mike had arranged some sort of damage control with an agent. He said that they’d opened up a P.O. box for fan letters, which they had had before, but was now advertised via the internet as a way to send Rhett and Link their thoughts and feelings about the interview. It was straightforward, definitely, but it was necessary. They could either take it head on, embrace the backlash, or pretend nothing would come of it. Jason said that once the letters came in, they’d sort through them and send a few over to their place for them to read in person. Those which seemed sketchy or dangerous would be handled, so no need to worry. Rhett nodded along as Jason spoke, grateful that Mike had figured something out, but not in the mood to say much. Jason signed off with a reminder that they should get back to songwriting as they waited for the storm to blow over. Rhett agreed, as did Link.

About a week later, after the blogs and sites had blown up with discussion over the article, and letters had been written and sent, the musicians were back to the music, forcing themselves into creative space as best they could. Rhett spent most of his time in his studio, strumming out chords to original songs or classics, anything really, just something to play, while Link had taken up the coffee table in the living room for sheets of paper, bits of songs. Things were fine between them, if not a bit hesitant, and it went unsaid they weren’t going to mention the interview, Mike, or the fans. What they needed now was to run themselves on the music and the occasional joint, throw themselves into the work.

So that’s what Link did. They were sent their first batch of fan letters, straight from their agent’s office, early that morning, and Link flicked through a couple of them, but found he didn’t have the heart to read any. He left them to Rhett, and instead took up his workspace on the couch, willing himself to finish at least one goddamn song. As Rhett carried two big handfuls of letters back to his room, Link settled in, coffee at the ready. He stared down at his work, a mess of blue and black ink, crossed out lyrics and notes with no pattern.

He had something in mind for a song, something different, not his same love song ballad, but everything just kept coming back to romance. He tried to think about the girls in the park, how it felt to have them support and adore their music, and he struggled to remember performing, feeding off the sea of energy, but it was no use. Everything was love, everything was Rhett, and Link’s creative core begged him to let Rhett be its muse. Again.

Link sighed, dropping his head into his hands. He’d written so many songs about Rhett, intentionally or not. Even when he just tried to be abstract, write about what made him happy, his passions, his spirit, it was all Rhett. It kept happening, and as much as Link tried to write other songs that were definitely, in no way, about his best friend, they just weren’t any good. So he gave in, let himself write the love songs, the friendship ballads, the bad-boy adventures down the highway. And that’s what his heart wanted him to do now, even in the midst of this mess with the fans. It wanted him to take everything that Rhett was and put it in a song, make it sound the way Rhett felt. Which was… everything. Rhett was everything.

Link picked up a pen and stared down at the page. He had some verses and ideas written, even more scribbled out, but what he did have only made sense when Rhett came along and strung them together with silver twine. Link had no choice but to follow it, drown himself in it, get lost in a memory. And he did.

As Link sat on the couch, he leaned back and crossed his legs, nibbling on the end of his pen. The living room was quiet and clean, a good space to work, a good space to think. He was on the edge of remembering something, a moment with Rhett that had happened not too long before their tour ended. It was simple and sweet but wonderfully poignant, just one moment in an eternal collection that had Link falling deeper in love.

During their tour, they stopped to refuel the bus just before they made it to New York. There was this little rest stop park area on the side of the road, just something for tourists and truckers to hit up during their travels, and Link and his crew definitely needed the break. Their driver let them off as he went to find gas, and Rhett, Link, Mike, and Jason tumbled out with sore knees and stiff necks, eager to stretch out on the grass or snag some snacks. They stepped down into the dirt and breathed in the fresh air. Well, fresher than that in the bus, anyway.

The place was nice, with a wooden notice board for maps and brochures squat in the center, a large bathroom to the right, a cement area with benches, tables, and water fountains right ahead, and a grassy space to the left. The grey edges of the city peeked over the horizon, and the trees that lined the space and sprinkled the grass cast a shadowed border and nice spots to sit. Link raised his arms over his head to stretch and told Rhett he was going to hit the john, then padded off towards the bathrooms. When he finished his business and checked the cloudy, graffitied mirror above the sink, combing some water through his hair and splashing some on his face, he went to find Rhett.

What he saw then was what made this memory so incredible. Rhett was sitting under a tree in the grassy field, leaning up against the trunk, resting in the shade. He had his acoustic guitar with him, settled in his lap, and he stroked it lovingly, not really playing anything. As Link walked over, he spotted the glossy amber shine of Rhett’s big sunglasses against his cheeks and a round white daisy tucked behind his ear. Dressed down in a thin grey t-shirt and black jeans ripped at the knees, Rhett didn’t turn to Link, only kept his hidden eyes on the horizon, the highway, and its traveling cars. He had thrown his brown leather jacket in his guitar case beside him, and a lit joint sat gently between the fingers of the hand not on the guitar. He took a smooth drag from it and held the smoke his lungs, tipping his head back against the tree as he let it out. He looked so cool, so stylish, so simply handsome. He was a seventies dream, gorgeous and wild, an edgy musician just sweet enough to have plucked a daisy from the cracks in the sidewalk and proudly wear it in his hair. Rhett was a mix of all the best things, and as Link made it to him, smiling stupidly, warm in his cheeks, he knew in that moment that he was truly blessed to know him, to have him, in whatever way he did. If he wasn’t already the other half of Rhett’s duo, he definitely would want to be, and if he didn’t know him, if he saw this tall, attractive guy sitting under a tree, smoking a joint, he would have fallen in love right then and there. And he did, as he fell in love over and over again, spanning across twenty years of moments like this.

When Rhett finally noticed Link, he pushed his sunglasses up into his hair and blinked into the sun. “Heeeeey, Link,” he said. Link knelt on the grass as Rhett continued, “Link. Linkster. Linkipoo.” Rhett took another hit and let the grey smoke carry on the wind.

Laughing, Link reached over, “I think you’ve had enough of this,” and took the joint from Rhett. He settled back on his bum in the shade and helped himself to a hit as Rhett glared at him. They rarely smoked in public, they didn’t really like to, but the rest stop was deserted, and they didn’t really give a shit.

“So, what’s up?” Link bent his legs and rested his arms on his knees, smoke coiling from the end of the joint between his fingers in that beautiful, delicate way.

“Nothing much,” Rhett replied, eyes first on a spot behind Link’s head then on him. Link, for what it’s worth, loved when Rhett looked at him. It could be the simplest, easiest thing, just eye contact while talking, or it could be something different, something heated and heavy and meaningful. Now, it was a bit distant, a bit stoney, which was also good.

Link didn’t respond, as he didn’t think he needed to, and it went quiet between them after that. The afternoon went on, the boys just sitting together on the grass, enjoying the peaceful scene. The rush of cars from the highway was their soundtrack, and after a while it blended into a static hum. Link thought he might have seen a flash of Jason across the way, but he wasn’t sure. They were alone, and it was easy.

Link took another hit from the joint, then handed it back. Rhett took one last puff and motioned for Link to finish it off. Link watched pleasantly as Rhett shifted in his spot and turned his attention on his guitar. He was going to play something, and Link was ready. He leaned back, smoking in small little hits, letting the high claim him, as Rhett plucked out a few notes. The sound carried on the empty wind perfectly, and after a few chords, Link recognized the tune. Everything went warm and slow and blurry as he watched Rhett’s hands move, touching the guitar with such care, such love. Link thought he might like to be that guitar, in Rhett’s lap, trapped between his stomach and his hand, stroked by those long, lovely fingers with such gentle intimacy. He’d curl up in Rhett’s warmth and let him make music out of him, vibrate and sing for him. It was a nice thought, albeit a bit strange, but Link didn’t care. He’d be Rhett’s everything if he asked. _If he asked,_ Link thought, _I’d be his._

Link watched in silent awe, comfortable and happy, not wanting to be anywhere else than here with Rhett, in the middle of nowhere, watching him play. He didn’t think it could get any better, honestly. That is, until Rhett began to sing.

Rhett continued to play the familiar chords as his low, smooth voice came through. Right there, in the middle of the rest stop, with Mike and Jason nowhere to be found, Rhett sang, gorgeous and perfect. He chose his favorite Johnny Cash song, as it was a part of his soul, and he could play it anywhere, at any time, as easily as if he’d written it himself.

They sat there on the grass for a while, Link smoking the last of the joint, listening to Rhett sing. Rhett was lost to the music, hands and voice working as one, but every now and then, he’d look up at Link and smile. He sounded different when he smiled, his song changing, just a bit, when he met Link’s eyes. Link didn’t know how to describe it, really, just being there with Rhett, being allowed to hear him sing in moments like this, being the one to travel the country and perform beside him. It was unreal.

The surreal moment lasted just about as long as the Cash song, as Jason and Mike found them soon after and brought them back to the bus. Rhett and Link climbed in, high and dazed in love, continuing their little session in the seats of the tour bus, though it wasn’t really the same. Being there on the grass was something else, and it’s what Link thought of now, back in LA, back in their shared home.

He came back to the present, Rhett’s song still in his head, and leaned forward to work. How could he not write about Rhett? That man was music himself, passion and rhythm and a perfect, indescribable moment at an empty little rest stop on the side of the road.

Link began to write. _If you knew,_ he started, pen bleeding ink into paper, smooth and easy. _If you knew how much I want you, how I loved you from the start, then it wouldn’t be so hard to let this fall apart. There’s a reason I’m still here, and it’s waiting on a daydream. Holding my breath, asking you to save me. ‘Cause if you knew and told me, then we could start over. I’d let it go in a second, just to have you in my arms for one more. We could leave this disaster town behind us, let it all end, ‘cause I only want a life with you, my brother, my friend._

He didn’t like that last bit, the verse didn’t rhyme perfectly, and the rhythm was off, but Link didn’t care. He’d edit it later. Right now, he needed to write. He needed to put Rhett to the page, breathe life into him as a song. He swept a hand through his hair and tried again.

_There’s amber in your eyes and spark in your soul. A creature of music, passion, and love untold. And if I had one breath left, one last thing to say, I’d tell you that I live for you, devotion everlasting, babe. And if you knew this, past decades and moons and rising suns, if, years ago, when we had just begun, I had said it all, then I think today, right now, there’d be no need for alcohol._

Link grimaced. Not the best. It was too patterned, too poetic. Songs should rhyme, yeah, but not like this. He was tempted to crumple it up and start again, but he forced himself to try one more verse, just one, from which he could edit and string something together.

_The history here is too much, memories entwined. If there’s something in my life you haven’t touched, I can’t find it. So of course I’ve fallen for you, wanting more than you know, but if you knew, and if you do, then please just let it show. I’ve been waiting here for ages, unsure and afraid, so if you want me too, then please, baby, don’t wait._

He put his pen between his lips. There was something off about it, and it wasn’t a lack of music. It just didn’t sound right, there were too many words, too much “I” and “you.” If he was going to write a song about Rhett, it had to be more vague than this, more abstract, and with better words all around. Link rubbed the back of his neck, staring down at the blue scribbles, mumbled, “This is shitty,” and scratched half of it out.

* * *

Back in his bedroom, Rhett sat at his desk and went through the fan letters. Most of them were sweet and easy, telling the band they loved their music and would support them whatever Rhett and Link chose or didn’t choose to do. Some didn’t mention the relationship at all, and were written in the original style of fanmail, writer introducing themselves and saying that they’d seen them in X place at X time, and that the concert had taken their mind off some tragedy. These warmed Rhett’s heart, like they usually did, and he was grateful for them. They hadn’t checked their mail in ages, and it was good to see that people still cared, still sent pictures of themselves outside of the venue, in t-shirts, or posing with the band. As Rhett went on, he even found one from someone who’d loved them way back when, when they were hardcore into the scene and finding weird little bands playing shows at local places. They were at a bar when the band came out, young and fresh, and played a few original songs. The fan said the band had heart and a different sound, and they fell in love. They then followed them all around the city, wherever they had gigs, and beamed like a proud mama bird when they started gaining traction. Years later, and they’re still devoted. They sent a picture of them standing outside a bar, a little chalkboard sign displaying the band’s name, modest and small. The fan’s smile was genuine though, and with it, they accompanied another picture of them outside one of their bigger, more recent shows, masses of fans crowding the stadium, name up on a massive light board. It made Rhett tear up, honestly. He treasured that fan so much.

However, there was another fan, a few others, actually, that had broken his heart in place of warming it. These were the fans who specifically commented on the article and the rumors of he and Link’s relationship. The letters all had similar elements, drilling the truth in as they piled up. Most had that one line, simple and direct, something like, “I’m gay,” or, “I think I’m bi,” or “I love her,” or, “He’s my best friend, and I want to be with him,” that hurt him more than anything. These were the fans, just like the _Stone_ interviewer had said, that were gay or queer, who had previously connected with the romance between Rhett and Link. Not all of them were sad or confused about it, some were very proud and open, which was great, but most of them had the same type of painful past - they thought they were the only ones to feel this way about their best friend, about their friends of the same gender, so when they heard about the romance between Rhett and Link, two boys from the South especially, and the potential that so many of their love songs had been written about each other, they clung to it like they were drowning and Rhink was air.

One letter, the first Rhett had read that really went into personal detail, had him crying big, wet tears into the paper by the end of it. It was the following:

_Dear Rhett and Link of The Wax Paper Dogz (and Mike and Jason, too, but this is mostly for Rhett and Link haha sorry),_

_Hi guys, my name’s David, and I’m from New Jersey. I read your interview in the_ Rolling Stone _today. My friend called me and asked me to come over so we could read it together, since my family can’t afford it. I had a feeling you’d be in it soon, and I was right. You’re my favorite band, and seeing you get more and more popular is really great. I’m happy that you have an article, but, as you can probably guess, confirmation about your relationship made me sad._

_At first, when I heard about this thing, Rhink, I didn’t believe it. For years, you two had been singing about girls, and magazines were always pairing you up with any hot young girl celebrity they could find. I know that doesn’t reflect on your actual relationships, but when it’s built up like that, you believe it. You’re teenage heartthrobs (that’s what my mom says), so of course you’d be ladies’ men. But then… A few people started saying you seemed to like each other. There were blog posts and pictures and some videos of you guys onstage, making eyes at each other, flirting a lot. I thought wow, this might actually be real, even though it’s sort of a stretch… But then it went on, and people were saying you weren’t denying it or anything. All throughout your tour, there was more and more evidence, and by the time you ended it, I’d seen a show myself in the city and believed it completely._

_There’s something about the way you two act onstage it’s… Gosh, I don’t even know how to describe it. It’s like you work off each other perfectly, matching energies or something. And yeah, best friends or bandmates can do that, but it’s different with you. You looked so into it, especially when singing to each other (which wasn’t very subtle, just saying) and I don’t know it just… Made me believe. And it sounds stupid, but it was really important for me to believe it because I’m gay. I’m gay and in love with my best friend. His name is Jacob._

_I never thought something so complicated would happen to me, especially with him. We’ve been friends since we were little, almost brothers. We’d go everywhere together, even holding hands when we were kids, totally inseparable. Then as soon as we hit high school, I started to wonder. I didn’t really like girls, and all the other boys seemed really into them, so I wondered if there was something wrong with me because I didn’t. I found out what being gay meant because they started calling me a faggot. I had friends who were girls and spent most of my time with my guy best friend, who I was really close with, which apparently means I’m a bundle of sticks? Okay. I didn’t know what their words meant, but I knew I didn’t want to be it because of the way they shouted them at me. They sounded bad. I looked into it anyway, though, and found out what it meant to be gay. And I thought, “Oh. That’s me.” And then as the weeks went on, I realized that it wasn’t just that I liked boys, it was that I liked Jacob the most. And it got really hard to be around him because I would just feel so much. Of what, I wasn’t sure, but I knew it was bigger than anything I’d ever felt. And it hurt a lot, because while he stuck up for me when the guys called me gay, afterwards he always asked if I was gonna get a girlfriend soon because if I did, they’d leave me alone. I told him I didn’t want a girlfriend, and he asked me if I really was gay. I didn’t answer him truthfully._

_This was around the time that I found your music. Jacob and I would listen to your albums, even the first one, all the time. We’d think about the weird scenes, cars driving off cliffs and girls in white dresses dancing on stardust. There were some songs that didn’t make sense to a lot of the people at my school who liked you, but they made sense to me. I know what it means to have a secret that’s better off as an open wound, I know what it feels like to slide headfirst into love without really knowing what lies at the bottom, and your songs about feeling angry and sad about being angry and sad make so much sense. Your music was like it was talking to me, weird and out of place but full of heart, just like me. It meant a lot to me and helped me through most of high school._

_I’m a senior now, and I’m going to be leaving this wasted neighborhood soon, but I can’t leave Jacob. He wants to stay here, but I have a scholarship to a school in the city. It’s so hard, I don’t want to leave him, but I don’t even know if he wants me to stay. We still haven’t really talked about me being gay, even though my parents and everyone at my school pretty much know now. I don’t think he knows I love him, or if he does, he doesn’t care. And I don’t know if there’s something there or not, there might have been, we might have missed our chance, I don’t know._

_And I know you might not think there’s anything, but there’s stuff that he does, stuff you did onstage, stuff you’d sing about, and sometimes I’d think about me and Jacob and would compare it to you guys. You guys have been friends for ages, through all the same shit, and at the end of it, you finally found your true feelings. Or… that’s what I thought. I thought I would be like you, could be like you, successful and inspirational and important while still being gay, loving someone the whole world doesn’t think I should love. It was so important for me to think that you two were together, or at least wanted to be, because then all those times I’d listened to your songs, wondering if what me and Jacob had was something else, it was like you were in the same place as me. As if I could have written those songs. Loving so fiercely, but unsure, scared._

_But then the interview proved me wrong. You’re straight, both of you, and only played it up for the fans. On one hand, I understand why you did it. There’s a huge appeal for people like me who are invested in the mystery, in the promise. But on the other… Why would you do that? Why would you play along, give us hope, when there is none? Okay, you’re not gay, big deal, most people aren’t. But what about the people who actually are? Who can’t just get over their best friend like that, who are so wrapped up in each other with no way to get out of the rumors just by saying, “Haha just kidding, we’re not actually together,” because you don’t actually know if you are or not?_

_I’m not mad at you, Rhett and Link. I’m just sad. I’m sad because I thought I had a connection to you, personally, that a lot of the other fans didn’t. I know what it feels like to love someone in so many different ways but still be unable to really talk about it, accept it. And even if I do accept it, which I have, sort of, it’ll always be different. I’ll always be a_ gay _person, and not just a person. And I just thought it was cool that you were like me. I don’t know, it was a nice thought. I understand that you can’t force yourself to love someone, though. You can’t force yourself to love each other just like I can’t force myself to love girls. It’s fine. I still like your music._

_Anyway, hope the album’s going well, and I’ll see you on your next tour._

_Thanks for letting me believe, even just for a little while,_

_David._

Rhett read the letter three times, eyes blurry and wet, tears dripping onto the page and smudging David’s handwritten ink. He had trusted them, connected to them, and they played him. Rhett hadn’t confirmed that he and Link were straight, at least he didn’t think he did, but who even knew anymore, it was all a mess. He’d let him down, he’d lied to him, and that was it.

And while Rhett couldn’t speak for Link, he definitely knew what it felt like to be in love with your best friend. Everything David had said, he’d felt for Link, wondering if there was something more, not telling him the full truth, unsure and afraid. It was real, God, it was so real for him, and he couldn’t tell him. He couldn’t tell David that. He couldn’t tell any of them that, not David or Julie or Samantha or Kerry or Princeton or Emily or Wilder or Bobby, none of the fans that sent him letters like David’s would know the truth. He wanted to write them all back, a heartfelt letter to each one, saying, _No, you’re wrong, I am like you. I am just like you. In high school, I loved Link so much, but I was never sure if I was allowed to or not. And when I finally accepted that I was different, I felt branded with it forever. I could never just love him, I had to love him and have it mean something, mean I’m different, mean I’d be a spokesperson for something that shouldn’t need to be separate if I ever came out about it. And I don’t know how Link feels, but I know he wouldn’t want you to hurt. I don’t want you to hurt, oh my god, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I understand, I’m sorry, I understand, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…_

Rhett thew his face in his arms on his desks and weeped. There were so many letters left, so many they hadn’t even been sent, and so many, as terrible as it was to think about, that would never be sent. The ones that made it to him were a few of the people who were brave enough to share their stories, but there were masses left that weren’t, masses that had given up on them. And Rhett knew, painfully well, that there were a few young kids out there who had battled the world’s homophobia and were just inches from killing themselves. His heart went out to those kids, for the heroes who quit too late. It twisted his head to think that there were some people out there who thought that suicide was the answer, because as punk and dark as their music was, he’d never want to encourage anyone to end it, to think it was easier that way. He’d never want to believe his suspicions that the interview might have been the last straw for some kids, just one more confirmation that you can’t be gay or bi or anything different in this world, you can’t be free, and none of the people you thought were like you actually weren’t, they were playing you, using your identity and your life as some sort of fantasy mystery to keep the rates up.

It hurt so much, Rhett couldn’t even bear it. He didn’t want to think about those kids. He knew the kids weren’t alright, but he didn’t want to believe it. He did, of course. He knew every word of the letters like David’s were truth, real pain from real fans.

He raised his head from his desk and wiped his eyes and cheeks and beard. No, he wouldn’t let anyone hurt any longer. He had to do something, even if it wasn’t right, even if they’d already confirmed it. He would convince Link to put it back on again, they could have another interview, say that they were just covering it up. It wouldn’t be as pure as it would have if they’d said nothing, but it didn’t matter. He had to do something. He had to fix this.

Rhett sat up, scrubbed a tissue down his face, grabbed David’s letter, and left his bedroom to find Link. When he approached, Link was on the couch, paper and pens spread out over the coffee table. He was looking down at what Rhett assumed was a song in progress and stood before him just as Link muttered something to himself.

“This is shitty,” Link said, scratching out his work.

“I doubt it,” Rhett countered.

“Rhett!” Link looked up, slightly startled. His cheeks went pink, and he fumbled a bit with the papers before him, covering them up.

“Aw, come on, it’s probably not that bad. You’re a good songwriter.”

Link continued to organize the papers, less frantic now, but still nervous. When they were in a neat pile, he collected the pens as he said, “Ahah… Well, trust me when I say it could use some work.”

“I’ll look at it later and decide that for myself, okay?”

The smile Link gave then was bashful and small, “Okay…”

Rhett didn’t understand it, so he just ignored it. “Anyway, Link, you need to look at this.” He handed over David’s letter, spotting the teardrop-smudged ink, hoping Link wouldn’t notice. “That’s just one letter of a bunch, a lot them are like that. These kids… They really put their faith in us.”

Rhett gave Link some time to read the letter, though it seemed like he just skimmed it. When he was finished, he knit his brow and looked up at Rhett. “This is sad.”

“I know, that’s why we need to do something.”

“Like what, Rhett? It’s out of our hands.”

“No, it’s not.” Rhett stood in front of the table as Link sat on the couch. Looking down at him made him feel powerful, like his idea was great. He puffed out his chest to ground himself. He was worked up, and a little bit irritated with Link’s nonchalance, so he tried not to say anything he’d regret. “We _can_ do something, Link, we can pretend it’s on again. We have to.”

Something passed in Link’s eyes, and he seemed to bristle. He dropped the letter onto the table and looked away. He said nothing. Rhett pressed on.

“Look, I don’t know how you - me - whatever, it doesn’t matter, I just know these kids are heartbroken and we need pretend it’s all on again.”

Link crossed his arms, still avoiding Rhett’s eyes. He was tense and clearly upset, but Rhett didn’t know why. He was about to speak again, try to clarify, but Link quickly stood and collected his papers off the table. “Okay, Rhett,” he said, daggers in his eyes, hate in his voice, “We can pretend again. I’ve been pretending all this time, haven’t I? What’s a few more weeks, right?” He pushed past him, purposely nudging Rhett’s shoulder with his.

Rhett didn’t understand what he’d done. “Link?”

He kept walking through the living room and didn’t stop or turn back as he spat, “Here’s a thought, how about you stop reading those depressing letters and write a song, huh? Make yourself useful.” Then he disappeared into his bedroom and slammed the door, leaving Rhett confused and alone.

Staring down the hall at Link’s closed door, Rhett felt fear tighten something inside him. Link was so seldom angry at him, and he hadn’t been in such a long time, especially as they were on delicate terms. Now, though, it seemed he snapped, and when he did, it wasn’t easy getting him out of it. Rhett went ice cold with worry and stepped around the coffee table, sinking back down onto the couch, right into the spot Link had just left. It was still warm and soft from his body, and it helped the chill, but only slightly. Rhett, with his brows furrowed, unsure what on Earth he’d done wrong, looked at the clearing on the wood where Link’s song had been.

He wondered what it was about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this chapter struck a chord with any of you, especially in regards to the letter, then I want you to know that you are not alone, and there are places that can help you. There are so many lifelines and chatrooms you can visit, [here](http://mentalillnessmouse.tumblr.com/post/21961172409/accepting-help-is-brave-hotlinescrisis-lines) is a link to a tumblr post that has numbers to helplines of all kinds, and [here](http://www.thetrevorproject.org/) is a lifeline organization specifically for LGBTQA+ youth. You can always come talk to me on [tumblr](http://lovelyrhink.tumblr.com/ask), too, if that's more comfortable for you.
> 
> Be proud, be strong, and stay safe. Remember, this story might be fantasy, but homophobia and transphobia are pressing and current problems all around the world, and the fight is far from over. Be kind to each other as best you can, and when it all goes to shit, put some big headphones on, close your eyes, and lose yourself in music. Everything might not be okay, but you are definitely not alone in the battle.
> 
> ❤︎


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Link traced his finger over these marks, wondering if little chubby-faced Link, excited about comics and wrestlers, knew that in two decades’ time, he’d be in love with his best friend and hearing himself on the radio.

Link was mad.

He was mad at Rhett for what he’d said about “pretending,” and then, after a few days of rolling the words through his head nonstop, he was mad at himself for still thinking about it. This lead him, quite easily, to then be mad at himself for believing there was a chance at all, for hoping that Rhett felt the same. But it wasn’t just that, either. It wasn’t that he had an inkling that Rhett loved him too, or didn’t, it was the back and forth. Some days, Link was sure it was all in his head, that Rhett’s eyes didn’t linger, that the twitch of his soft bottom lip under his mustache was friendly, nothing more. Then, a second later, maybe even in the same moment, he’d think, no, there’s something more here. It switched, all the time, every day. It was exhausting, actually, and now, Link was worn out. He’d been so wrapped up in Rhett when writing music about him that he forgot that Rhett was a real guy who, potentially, had a say in their relationship. It wasn’t only Link’s to fantasize about, to turn into songs. Rhett was the second half, and he had feelings about it, too. Those feelings just didn’t match Link’s, apparently. He thought it was all a show for the fans, and he’d go against all of Mike’s warnings and Link’s unknown feelings to “pretend” it was on again for the sake of them.

And what was that that he said? _Look, I don’t know how you - me - whatever, it doesn’t matter._ What was that? What _was_ that? Of course it matters, Rhett! This matters! This is our world, this is us!

Link knit his brows; his forehead hurt. He was tired of thinking about it. He was lying in bed, on top of the blankets, hands behind his head. He had finished dinner, quiet and alone, and retreated into his bedroom, tip-toeing past Rhett’s closed door.

It had been like this for days. He’d actively been avoiding Rhett, as it hurt to even see him, and it didn’t take Rhett long to catch on. They weren’t often mad at each other, so when they were, it was strange. Cold and empty, they went days without speaking, without spending time in the same room. It happened more often in college, when they were both more stubborn and hot-headed than they were now. This fight, though, had Link back in his dorm bunk, fuming and sad and confused all at once. It was just as bad then, too, as they lived together there as well. If Link wanted to get away, he had to navigate himself through the house, sometimes even creeping through the back, around the garbage bins, to avoid Rhett’s open door. When he needed the bathroom, he always checked if Rhett was there first, as well as the kitchen or living room when he was tired of hiding in his room. Rhett left him alone, which was good, but it also hurt like hell. Part of him wanted Rhett to stay as far away as possible, just down the hall or farther, but another wanted nothing more than for Rhett to approach him, work out what had made Link so upset and apologize. “I’m sorry, Link,” he’d say, “I don’t think we were pretending. I wasn’t.”

Of course, this didn’t happen. Rhett had knocked on his door that first night, though, offering in a small, nervous voice some type of apology, but Link was freshly mad at that point and didn’t accept it.

“Link,” he’d said through the door. “Are you coming out for dinner?”

“I’m not hungry,” Link lied.

“Okay. Well, I’m sorry if I - ah - if I said anything that upset you. It’s been a long day, those letters -“

“I don’t care about the letters, Rhett.”

“I know, but I do. I do, and it’s driving me crazy. The kids, Link, they’re not alright-“

“Your food’s probably getting cold.”

Rhett was quiet for a moment. Then, “Okay, Link. I get it. See you around,” and he was gone.

Link turned in his bed, buried his head under his pillow, and went to sleep hungry.

The morning after, he slept in as much as he could and sneaked out for some breakfast around noon. The days continued on like that, slinking around, avoiding each other. Nearly a week had passed without so much as a few words, and Link hated it. It was painful, unlike their usual flirty banter in the kitchen, hip-checking each other as Rhett made cheesy eggs and potatoes and Link prepared some fruit, sitting down together at the dining table and smiling at each other through sleepy eyes. It wasn’t like that at all, and it was awful. Still, the silence went on, an empty week, and brought us to tonight, where Link was staring at his ceiling in the dark, replaying everything that had happened in the last few days via the cinema in his head.

He sighed, chest rising and falling in the black quiet of his bedroom. He missed Rhett, of course, but he wasn’t ready. He was too caught up in everything, still coming off songwriting, and he was massively confused. His heart longed to let him remember, believe in what he’d created off their memories: the stage lights, amps vibrating music in their bones, eyes locked, but Rhett’s pleading voice cut through, begging Link to play it up with him, play it up because there was nothing there, nothing that mattered.

Link thought about it for a few hours more, anxiously keeping himself awake, before he rolled over and played snake on his flip phone until he fell asleep by the glow of the small screen.

The next day, Link felt he ought to get away. He was tired of sneaking through the halls of his own house, so, as he awoke early due to nerves and a dream of Rhett which he tried desperately to escape from, he promptly left his room and showered. He wasted no time in cooking a small breakfast of a two fried eggs on halves of a bagel, packed away from fruit and water, dressed ina hat, shorts, and hiking boots, and left. He left Rhett, asleep and worriedly twisting in his sheets, lost in a nightmare in which Link refused to forgive him and moved out. When he awoke, Link was gone, and the nightmare lingered.

Elsewhere, Link was in the car, driving out of the city and up to the closest bit of nature they had, levels of rocks and dirt trails hidden in a swatch of brown and green trees. He cranked up the radio as he drove, desperate for distraction, but after two songs, his own voice came through, and he switched it off. Their most popular song, upbeat and repetitive, had been claimed by rock and pop stations all over the country, and he had to suffer through it nearly wherever he went. He hated hearing it, not because he thought he sounded bad, but he already lived the life which he sang about. That particular song had been written by he and Rhett together, a simple enough love song with nobody particular in mind, vague verses of,  _You hurt me, but I miss you all the same._ He didn’t need a reminder.

When he was sure the song was over, he turned the radio back on and tuned it to the nearest classic jazz station, eyes on the road, a few sparse cars here and there in the morning light. It was only a quarter past six, as Link had awoken painfully early, and while his bones and eyes longed to be put back to sleep, he pushed through it, eager for nature. He arrived at the base of a bike trail just as an overly-enthused trumpet came in, and he quickly grabbed his backpack and left his car in the dust.

He’d always loved nature and everything that went with it. The smells, the breeze, the dust, the rocks, the trees, the water, the scurrying chipmunks and marmots when he drove hours and hours to make it to their territory. Here, he was alone, save for a few early-rising insects, and he settled the pack on his back and tightened the straps. If he couldn’t force his head to clear himself, then he’d make the open air do it for him.

Link breathed the morning mist into his lungs and set out, boots crunching over rocks. The sky was light grey, young sun peeking through the overhead, and the dark tips of trees looked like the ridge of a monster’s spine as he hunched over the horizon. Link forced himself to keep his eyes up as he walked, admiring large boulders, wildflowers, and the patterned shadows that fell across the landscape. Dry, grey rocks lined the dirt path he followed, loose and rolling away as his boots kicked them off the trail. The area was quiet, save for the his footsteps, his soft breaths, and a few distant birdcalls.

Nature welcomed him in, offering to heal his heart, but Link was resistant. It took him a solid thirty minutes of continuous anxiety over Rhett, insides just as worried and knotted as the previous night, before the spirits in the trees and air finally brought him down. The wind danced on his skin, and as the morning continued on, the sun rose from the clouds and beat golden beams on his face. Link walked along the path, letting the quiet clear his head, trying as best as he could to become one with the earth.

He’d been walking for a while when he had the urge to veer off the path and into a nearby open patch. The young singer waded through the grass, wildflowers just pinpricks of color against a sea of green, and reveled in the silence of both him and the world in which he walked. He thought not of music, or stage lights, or fans. It was only him and the morning wind, passing through the branches overhead that rained loose leaves down on him.

He leaned against a trunk to rest and closed his eyes. His heartbeat had picked up, and a nice sheen of sweat had formed on his forehead. His body thanked him for being worked like this, as laying around his house, pining for his roommate, had kept him tense and stiff. Now, his calves sighed happily, stretched and warm, as he raised himself off the tree and padded through the woods, stepping over large boulders in the forest floor. Breaking through the clearing ten minutes later, he found the trail again, and followed it up to a large, flat rock. He climbed it, set his pack down, and stretched. Muscles releasing with a sigh, he felt the sun and wind brush the bare strip of stomach that peeked from below his t-shirt. Finally, he sat, took out his water and his fruit, and let himself think once more, hesitant. Luckily, Rhett was in the back of his mind, and only memories of this place remained.

Link had come here before, alone, to bike. It was nice to just power through the trails, speed past the people doing what, he assumed, he was doing now, and bring the bike up to a clearing like this. Back then, he’d really work himself, rewarding his muscles with the view, staying only for a moment before setting off again, biking away. Now, he wanted to really take the moment. Biting into his apple, his eyes on the view, he thanked anything that was watching him that he had an opportunity like this. When confused or worked up, he was able to get away, rest his weary soul. A simple drive out of the city, and he was here, overlooking the world he’d left behind.

He spent longer than his body wanted him to on that rock, just sitting, watching the city rouse and start the day. Half of his water bottle was gone by the time he finally rose, stretched his legs again, and popped his joints. He took his time coming back down, following the trail through the woods. Only once did he think of Rhett, really, and it was when he passed an interesting-looking tree. The patterns on the bark were unique, dark brown swirls on beige, and Link knew if Rhett were here, he’d comment on it, mention how it’d make a nice coffee table.

By the time he was back in his car, he was starting to remember the fight. He knew exactly what had happened, of course, but it had seemed distant amongst the trees. Now, though, it was real again. He’d have to go back to the house, work around Rhett, hide from him. And, as nice as his getaway in the woods was, he wasn’t ready to face it. If he told Rhett why he was upset, why “pretending” wasn’t an option, it would start the conversation they hadn’t had in twenty years of friendship. Link wasn’t ready for that. No, he was going to let things be okay. He would still avoid Rhett until he was over it, or at least comfortable, but he wasn’t going to actively spite him. If he ran into him in the hallway, it would be okay.

Link drove.

It would all be okay.

Once home, Rhett was there, at the dining table, reading the paper. He’d made himself coffee and pancakes and glanced up when Link came through the door. Seeing him sparked all the fear Link thought the dryads and wildflowers had whisked from him, and his previous notion of being okay vanished like his footprints in the dirt against the wind. Rhett met his eyes, ruffled his paper, and turned back, ignoring him. Link took the offered silence and slipped by, not even bothering to clear his backpack of his apple core and water bottle. He went straight to his room, cast off his backpack and hat, dressed down, and sank into the round, cushioned chair in the corner. He leaned back and closed his eyes, willing his heart to calm, cursing himself for so foolishly thinking it’d be as easy as that, and when he opened them, he noticed something peeking out of his bookshelf.

A comic book, his favorite, that he hadn’t read in ages. Now, its soft, worn edge poked out of the shelf as if reminding him of his roots, another way to take himself away from here without driving out to the mountains. Link rose from the chair slowly and kneeled down to take it. It slid from its spot between its other editions, and Link held it gently in his hands, looking down at it. He smiled, bittersweet, at the chocolate stain in the lefthand corner. Rhett had been making chocolate milk after school in third grade when he’d gotten it, and as Link set it on the counter, he leaned over to look at it and dribbled some right on the glossy new edition. He apologized immediately, scooped the glop off the page, and licked it from his finger. Link wasn’t mad, he just laughed. He waited to read it until Rhett had made two glasses of brown milk for the both of them, and they sat on the living room couch to read the edition together, wiping their sticky fingers on their pants before turning the crisp pages carefully.

Tears began to well in Link’s eyes. Rhett was in nearly every memory he had, and all the best involved him. Even when he wanted to get away from him, he couldn’t. Rhett was there, part of his life, part of his soul. Link wiped his eyes on the back of his hand and took the comic back to his chair. He flopped back and held the comic up in the sun. Despite Rhett’s chocolate stain, the cover had held up fairly well, though there were a few indentations from careless scribbles when either of them left it on the table and wrote over it. Link traced his finger over these marks, wondering if little chubby-faced Link, excited about comics and wrestlers, knew that in two decades’ time, he’d be in love with his best friend and hearing himself on the radio.

He opened the comic. The old smell of paper and ink rose softly from the crease, and Link breathed it in, letting it heal his heart. For a moment, he was back with Rhett on the couch, chocolate milk on his tongue, bubbling with excitement over the first edition. Rhett was smiling beside him, small and warm, elbow digging into Link’s hip as he leaned in to peer at the page. Link missed that Rhett, the Rhett who was thin and small and wiry, with eyes too big for his head and a beauty mark above his lip. He loved this Rhett, too, but everything was different. Everything was harder. He missed when it was easy. Link sighed. _No use in pining for what’s lost_ , he told himself. _Just move on._

He began to read, old speech bubbles as familiar as they were twenty years prior. The plot carried him through introduction of the main character, his lab, and his mission. By page five, the story had picked up where it left off before the reader entered, right in the middle of a galactic battle. The space station the main character resided in overlooked the universe, a vast blend of purple and orange with a smattering of twinkling stars. The planets in the distance were lumps of grey and blue rocks, and a large white diamond spaceship was charging the planet on which he stood. The hero stood on the platform atop his lab, a ray gun of some kind in one hand, white lab coat stained blue with the blood of the test-tube-born creatures that invested his world, the other arm raised high to signal the oncoming ship. Below him, a white text box. It read, _I waved the general towards our suffering planet, praying that the military finesse that once led him through the battle on Sparctica would save us here. I was tired of blasting crater crawlers all by myself, I needed help._

Though this page was a full spread of a painting, the next was broken up into classic comic book sections. The first box in the lefthand corner revealed a tall, buff, brown-skinned, white-haired man in a faded green jacket stepping out of his diamond white ship.

_The general._

The main character walked up to him and shook his hand, which left a smear of blue crawler blood on his palm. He held his breath as the general looked down at it, and after a tense moment, he laughed.

“Good to see a scientist like you work with your hands,” he said in a speech bubble above his head. “Glad you called, too, I haven’t blasted any of those creepy buggers in so long, I’ve been itching for a reason.”

“Well,” the man in the lab coat rubbed the blue goop on the back of his neck nervously, then gestured to his infected planet. “Here’s your reason.”

The general was in the middle of a hearty chuckle when Link’s cellphone buzzed under his right thigh. He lay the comic book upside-down on his lap and retrieved his phone, half expecting it to be Rhett calling from the kitchen, which he’d sometimes do. It wasn’t Rhett, though. It was Jason.

“Hey, Jason…?” Link failed to hide the confusion in his tone, as Jason usually wouldn’t call him unprompted. Mike would usually be the one to call about official band news, and while Jason wasn’t _useless_ , per say, he definitely didn’t put much effort into anything other than playing bass, smoking weed, and taking naps.

“Hey.” He sounded sleepy.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing much. You?”

“Uh…” Link didn’t know what to say, but he assumed the truth would be the safest bet. “I took a hike this morning, now I’m reading _Professor Zion_ , a comic I liked when I was a kid.”

“Oh, no shit, I loved that shit. What part are you on?”

Link suddenly perked up, he’d take any opportunity to talk about comics with someone. “Just started the first edition, when the general comes in to clear out the crawlers off Deliona. I think someone set them there, but I can’t remember.”

“King Neopold, right? He infected the planet with the crawlers via a virus in the craters. I remember.” Jason seemed to have woken up a bit, but his voice still rumbled in a low drawl.

“Yeah! Dang.”

It was quiet for a moment, so Link tried again.

“So, you calling for a specific reason or anything?”

“Yeah, I was wondering if you maybe would want to like, hang out or something? Haven’t seen you in a while. Just wondering how things are going.”

Link’s stomach twisted. Something told him that his distress over Rhett and Jason’s unexpected call were somehow connected. Rhett didn’t call Jason and ask him to check up on him, did he? Would he do that? Send a mediator, a messenger? Probably.

Still, it was nice to have someone to see other than Rhett, so Link accepted. “Sure, Jason. Are you free right now?”

“Yeah. Can I come over?”

“Uh, yeah. Let me just…” Link stood from the round chair, _Professor Zion_ sliding off his lap. He rushed to the door of his bedroom and peeked out. Rhett wasn’t in the kitchen, and after waiting a moment in silence, he didn’t hear anything coming from his bedroom. He didn’t sense his presence, either, which was honestly a more powerful sign than anything else. “Yeah,” he said into the phone, “You can come over.”

“Cool. Be there in fifteen.” Jason hung up.

Link closed his phone, wandering down the hall, eyes on the kitchen table. It was clear, no sign of pancakes or any dirty dishes. Rhett must have cleaned up the moment Link got home, or else he was admiring his old comic book much longer than he thought.

Retreating back to his bedroom, Link decided to take another shower. The hike had left a fine layer of dust and sweat on his skin, and although he was relatively clean, he’d prefer to be spotless by the time Jason arrived. He jumped in quick, rinsed off the dust, and changed back into easy clothes, loose black jeans and a faded grey t-shirt. He was rubbing a baby blue towel through his short black hair when Jason let himself in.

“Charles? You there?” Jason called.

“In the bathroom, hold on. You want something to drink?”

“I’m good for now, thanks though.” As Link combed his hair into place, quaffed it over his forehead, and checked his reflection in the mirror, big blue eyes blinking back at him, he realized he was actually really grateful Jason had come over. He loved him, of course. The best of the band, in all honesty. He took whatever Mike gave them, continued to play with as much heart his sleepy soul could manage. And he was an incredibly talented bassist, despite being stoned nearly every performance. He didn’t say much, but what he did was never rude or out of place. He just wandered through life, admiring things in his own slow, easy way. And sometimes, that’s just what you need in a friend.

Link walked down the hall and into the living room, where Jason was rolling a joint on the couch. Of course he was. Link sat down in the armchair closest to him and noted that Jason had also brought his bong, purple and blue and white glass, spirals whorled into the clear body, cleaner than he’d ever seen it. Link huffed a laugh, “So I’m assuming we’re getting stoned today?”

Jason held up his half-rolled joint. It was thick, and Link was excited. “You need this,” he said, pulsing the joint to accentuate every word.

“Okay, I get it, what did Rhett tell you?”

“Nothing.”

“Jason.”

“He said you two were fighting, that’s all. He didn’t force me to come over and check up on you, if that’s what you’re thinking. I just thought I would anyway.”

Link was quiet, studying Jason’s face. He wasn’t one to lie, Link knew that, but it was still strange, as he also wasn’t one to go out of his way, to put effort into anything. Yet here he was, by his own accord, to hang out with him. Jason shrugged and continued rolling the joint.

Link continued to study him as he said, “Well, thanks. It’s nice to see you.”

Jason looked up, squinting his eyes and smiling so his cheeks bunched up - a funny face. It lightened the moment. Link smiled. Jason was honestly fairly handsome, with sad, deep set forest green eyes. So was Mike, in his pointed, bossy way. They had nothing on Rhett though, of course. Link dropped his head between his shoulders. There was Rhett again. Inescapable.

“But yeah,” Link continued, raising his head, “It’s stupid. We don’t usually fight.”

Jason had finished rolling the joint and took out a sleek silver lighter with their band’s initials engraved into the metal. He lit the end and took a long drag, held it in his lungs, husked it out, then took another. Champion stoner right here. “I know,” he said through the smoke. “You guys are like the best friends ever. What even happened?” He passed the joint over, Link had to stand to take it.

“I don’t even know, I was writing music, then he came in, said something that pissed me off, and now I’m avoiding him like the plague. I don’t want to, but whenever I see him I just… Yeah.” He took a big hit, relaxing into the way the hot smoke filled his lungs. It burnt so good, if that made sense.

“I understand.” Jason leaned back on the couch and crossed one leg over his knee. His jeans popped up and revealed a tattoo of a golden teddy bear with a hockey mask and a knife. “I’m sure he didn’t mean it.”

Link took another hit. “Still. It just sucks.” Handing the joint over again, Link met Jason’s eyes, wondering what would have happened if he’d fallen in love with him instead. It probably would have been easier, honestly.

Jason’s fingertips were soft and dry as they brushed Link’s knuckles. “What did he say?”

“Uh…” There was no escaping this one, so he settled, once again, for the truth. Jason smoked as Link talked. “He was reading letters from fans and came in and said he thought we should, like, pretend to be a couple again. Or something, I don’t know.”

The smoke from Jason’s mouth clouded high in the living room. At this rate, it’d be hotboxed in no time. He popped a brow, “I see.” He didn’t say anything else for a long time.

They just sat and smoked in silence, passing the joint back and forth in the thick grey haze until it was gone. When it was, they just sat for a while, breathing in the extra smoke, thick in the air. Link’s lungs stung, just a bit, but he loved it. Just when things started feeling slow and displaced, Jason leaned forward and unscrewed his blue jar of weed. He began breaking up pieces and packing them into the bowl of the bong. Link felt it right to talk again.

“So, what about you? How’s everything? How’s Mike?”

“Mike can eat my ass.”

“Sorry?”

“I mean, he’s been riding my ass.”

“Still not understanding.”

Jason pressed his thumb down into the bowl and licked the sticky residue off his finger. “He’s been dealing with PR, y’know? He’s got an agent managing the letters, the calls, the blog posts, all this shit after the interview, and he thinks he’s hot shit. Like suddenly he’s the manager of the band, and apparently, I’m his righthand man, his minion. He’d do it before, but now, I don’t know, it’s like he expects me to be on top of everything. He asks me to check up on the fans, to ‘moderate’ or whatever. And I’m like bro, just stop. Let the fans do their thing, let Rhett and Link do their thing, it’s whatever.”

Link was quiet, that might have been the most Jason had ever said all at once. And even in his slow, fuzzy, high state, it made complete sense. Mike was definitely trying to moderate things, the “aftermath,” as if the interview was the worst thing to ever happen. Link realized now, weeks later and lit as a tit, that it wasn’t. There were more important things than the interview. For example -

“Our album.”

Jason had taken the silence to take a rip from the bong, momentarily ignoring him. It bubbled, smoke filling the clear column. Link watched through the haze with heavy, gritty eyes. He probably should open a window or something. He rose from the chair, woozy and definitely feeling it, and went to the living room window. It took him a good three minutes to figure out how to open it, and when he finally did, Jason was asking him something.

“What about it?”

Link came back and flopped down onto the chair, longways, legs over the arm, bare feet popping up. “It’s what we should be looking forward to. This other stuff is so… pointless. I’m over it.”

Jason ran his fingers through his hair and rose from the couch, bringing Link the bong. As he handed it and the lighter over, he said, “Are you _really_?”

Link sat up and settled the glass piece on his stomach. He took a long hit, slow as he could, breathing in the smoke, before he husked out. “No. No, I’m not.”

He might have just been too high, but Link swore that something passed in Jason’s glazed eyes that looked something a lot like sympathy. Did he know? Did he know Link was in love with Rhett, that he was upset because he didn’t want to “pretend” anymore? That acting out a fake relationship was the last thing he wanted, he wanted something real? He didn’t know for sure, but he supposed it didn’t matter. Jason was here, they were high, and they had nothing to do besides smoke more and maybe work on a few songs if possible.

They smoked for another hour or so, taking breaks to let their lungs heal as much as they could. Link, struggling his way towards the kitchen, managed to bring back two cold beers from the fridge, to which Jason was immeasurably grateful. They clinked the green bottles with lopsided, stoned smiles, and let the split reality wash over them.

It was a good afternoon, even better once they stopped talking about Rhett or the band. The two of them just cut loose, even turned on the TV for a moment to catch a bit of whatever game they could find. They were too stoned to figure out who was winning, though, so they just switched it to a classic rock music channel, occasionally singing or strumming along on an air bass. Only once, a little bit later into the afternoon, well into their third bowl, did Link mention Rhett once again.

He might have said, “I just really love him, y’know?” but he couldn’t remember. Either way, Jason didn’t mind, and by the time Rhett came home, they were lounging all around the reeking living room in various positions, a half-finished bowl and empty beer bottles on the coffee table, singing along, badly, to _Smells Like Teen Spirit._

Rhett stopped in the entryway and watched them, just for a moment. He might have still been upset with Link, or at least upset that Link was with upset with him, but he was happy he was having a good time, allowing himself a moment to step back. He needed it, especially with his anxiety. He needed to relax, and it seemed Jason, with his pretty bong and endless supply of quality weed, was just the guy to help him do that.

He smiled, shaking his head as he disappeared down the hallway and into his bedroom. How he got stuck with such ridiculous stoner grunge dorks, he didn’t know, but he loved it, and he wouldn’t change a thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry Rhett and Link, Jason's my truest fav in this fic. He just has such good vibes, y'know? I have a Jason in my life, just someone to get stoned with and cut back, and it's... It's what you need sometimes.  
>   
> Inspiration for the hiking scene comes from the week-long vacation I take every summer up to the Plumas National Forest with my family ([here](http://lovelyrhink.tumblr.com/post/147213519131/summer-trip-2016-click-for-captions) are some pictures, if you're interested!). I'm sure a place just outside LA isn't the same, but Link has said he's gone biking up rocks and stuff, so idk.  
>   
> Inspiration was also drawn for Link's comic from a post-apocalyptic novel I read in a few days while up there, _[Station Eleven](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Station_Eleven)_ by Emily St. John Mandel. I definitely recommend it if you want to be whisked away to twenty years post-disaster and totally mindfucked!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He missed it, in all honesty, he missed so much of yesterday.

Rhett didn’t think he could miss Link so much. Once, in college, he went off traveling for a while, with oceans between them, and that was bad enough, but this was… This was terrible. Link was right there, _right_ there, just down the hall, in the kitchen, and yet there was a distance there that had never been.

Whenever they fought, argued over petty things, it was easy to talk out. They spent their whole lives talking, even sitting on two big rocks by a river to plan their future together, the boy on the bigger rock given his turn to speak. They had misunderstandings and years in which they took different classes, leaving one to find another, lesser best friend, but they always came back. Rhett knew they would, eventually, but it didn’t seem to be happening anytime soon. He wanted it to, though. He missed Link so much it started to hurt. Link wasn’t just who he told everything to, he was who he experienced everything with. He’d never go through something without Link either being there or telling him later. He’d find comfort and home in his smile, the crinkle by his eyes, and knew that whatever crazy theory he cooked up would always be welcome, if not met with rolled eyes. Link was always there, always willing to listen. “If you’re going to talk,” he’d said once, “then I’m going to listen.”

Rhett remembered a time in college, though, just before he went away, when he simply forgot to talk. He was busy with other things, had things on his mind. There were girls who liked him, but he wasn’t sure if he liked them back or not. School was really riding him, and he began to question if he even wanted to be an engineer. And, worst of all, he was just then beginning to accept his feelings for Link, those which he always knew. So when he planned to take some time off, it was good for him, but hard for Link. He seemed to slip away, just a bit, and two weeks went by without telling Link what was happening in his life. Not because he didn’t want to, he just… forgot. Link was so close to him, so close to home, that it was just as easy for him to disappear into the haze of confusion like any brother would.

Link came to him one night, as Rhett was cramming in some last minute studying for a test he had right before his trip, his suitcases and guitar half packed away in the corner of his room. He was hunched over his desk, eyes going blurry in the yellow light of his lamp, and Link came up, quietly, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, brother,” he said, so soft, so gentle.

Rhett jumped at the touch and turned to him. He looked handsome as always in the dim light, cotton t-shirt so simply beautiful on his broad shoulders, big, young eyes looking down at him. “Hey, Link.” Rhett’s voice was hoarse as if he hadn’t used it in a while. He hadn’t.

“What’s on your mind, bo?”

“Nothing.”

“Okay.”

Rhett remembered that the silence settled in, just for a moment, until Link knelt down before his chair. Rhett recalled that he struggled not to blush with Link on his knees, looking up at him with those goddamn eyes.

“Hey,” he said then, voice husky and serious, “You haven’t talked to me in a while. Is everything okay?”

Touched by his concern, Rhett loosened up and sighed. “Yeah, Link, everything is okay. Just… planning. Tests. The trip.”

Link nodded, “I understand… But Rhett.”

Rhett held his gaze.

“I want you to know that you can always talk to me, but that doesn’t mean you have to. You are your own person, as am I, and you don’t have to tell me everything that’s going on with you, but I want you to know that you can anyway. If you want to.” He gave Rhett a soft smile, and it might have just been the light, but Rhett swore there was a sparkle of water in his eyes. “Take your trip, take some time to yourself,” he laughed, “we spend so much time together, I think a break would do us good… But just know that I’m here for you, okay?” Link put a hand on his thigh and patted it as he stood. “Anyway. I’m making pasta, if you want some. Good luck on your test.” Then he was gone, out of the room, leaving Rhett to blink at the spot he’d just been, at the lingering warmth on his thigh.

It was that night, after that conversation, that he finally admitted to himself that he’d never loved anyone more. Link was who he loved, Link was the one for him.

Now, years later and in the midst of a silent war, Rhett felt the same, which made it hurt so much more. He loved Link so much, he was so caring and perceptive while being goofy and often, kind of a mess, but he was gentle and warm and sweet and compassionate, and the ice that he put out now was so unfamiliar. _Anything hurts less than the quiet._

Rhett wanted things to go back to normal as soon as possible, but after a week of nothing, Rhett realized Link wouldn’t do anything about it. He wasn’t going to come to him and tell him what he’d done wrong, Rhett had to figure it himself out then go to him. He had to initiate the apology. But God, it was hard, especially when he had no idea what he’d said.

He spent the silent days Link had given him wondering what could have ticked him off. They’d been talking about the fans, and Rhett mentioned their relationship, the fake one… Link might have been upset because he was over it, he didn’t want to play anymore. He might have felt stupid and used, tired of being involved in something that he clearly wasn’t interested in, or he might have just been tired of Rhett himself… It wasn’t a stretch, in all honesty. The tour had had them cramped up in a bus and single hotel room for weeks at a time, and when they returned, they were immediately told by Mike that whatever they’d done had fucked everything up. Maybe Link was just over it, all of it. It pained him to consider, knowing that they’d been friends for twenty years, working past every strain, but maybe this was too much.

Rhett just didn’t know. He felt stupid and clueless, but he couldn’t help it. When Link got like this, even as well as Rhett knew him, reading him as easily as if he were thirteen and avoiding him in the hallways, there was always something Rhett was missing, and he just didn’t know what it was. So, helpless and flailing, he decided to take the time to do something else, do the things he knew Link didn’t want him to do.

First, he saw an old friend. She was a singer he knew in college who, he’d heard, had been doing small shows in coffee shops and underground jazz clubs around the city. By day, she worked with kids, teaching them how to swim and be kind to one another, but by night, she was Amelia Johnson, cool cat, dressed in all black, with a glossy mahogany guitar on her hip. Link didn’t like her at all, but Rhett did. They had almost dated, back in college, emphasis on almost, but she quickly figured out that Rhett was in love with someone else, and she said she didn’t mind.

“Nobody is made for anyone else,” she said once over coffee in the library lounge, “but you might be the closest I’ve seen.”

“What does that mean?”

“Your life is meant to be shared with another, from childhood ’til death, and I think you already know that.” She smiled at him kindly, ringed fingers gently cupped ‘round her mug. Her hair was light and long, thick and wavy as it fell over her small shoulders, she had a pointed nose and thin lips, eyebrows that were always just a touch too plucked, and various piercings in her delicate ears. Amelia, often called Mia by friends, was a bit loopy but massively intelligent. You’d often find her on top of the astronomy tower, big grey eyes on the stars, or sweeping her dark drapes of shawls and skirts through the library aisles. Her ankles, wrists, fingers, and toes were never without a glitter of jewelry, and she switched from heavily painted lids and lips to completely natural, fair as a Medieval princess, whenever she pleased. She seemed to live a life half in a dream, always reflecting, always wondering. If you were to have coffee with her, she’d analyze your life, grace you with some amateur philosophy before she even ordered. She was a hippy stargazer in every sense, and Link couldn’t stand her. Rhett loved her though, like he loved any of his old school friends, and now, with Link mad at him, he took the opportunity to finally see one of her shows, a grungy little café hidden beneath a spiral staircase under a theatre.

On the third night that Link wasn’t speaking to him, he took the bus downtown, found the place, and wove through the chic beatniks for a spot in the front. The café was dimly lit, and the scent of the day’s coffee mixed with nighttime wine as people chatted lightly around candlelit tables. Posters of singers and paintings colored the beige walls, and plants creeped their long, green vines around the counters. Rhett liked places like this - hidden, dark, quiet. He and the band had played a few joints like this when they were just starting out, albeit more bars than cafés. This is where he’d like to be, though. Somewhere where the people were here for a drink, maybe some bread and cheese, and good music. Rhett looked around at the audience as he waited, eyeing up both the beautiful men and women sitting calmly, waiting for the main feature. A smooth jazz opener played for a bit longer, and then, with Rhett’s heart all in a tizzy, Mia came out.

Beautiful and somewhat macabre as always, she rocked a long purple cloak with silver fastenings, skinny black leggings and matching black boots. As soon as she appeared, tasteful applause bubbled over the space, and she gave them a gracious smile. Looking a bit like a wizard with a glossy red guitar in place of a wand, she flipped a long braid over her shoulder and shifted closer to the mic. “Hello,” she hummed, voice as smooth and deep as ever. “I’m gonna play a little song for y’all, if that’s alright with you.”

Rhett caught himself smiling; he hadn’t realized how much he missed her. She smoothed a hand down the guitar, reflecting a yellow glare in the stage lights, and gave the audience one final scan. Something in the front row stopped her, though, and she leaned into the mic.

“Seems we have an old friend in the audience amongst us. I haven’t seen him in ages. To you, sir, I sing this - welcome back.” Her purple-shadowed eyes sparkled at Rhett, his heart stopped, and then she sang.

The song was an original, of course, Rhett could tell by the first few chords. She’d had the same style in college, a bit folkish, a bit Joni Mitchell, and her strong voice carried well. He listened respectfully, remembering with every note why he adored her, and by the second chorus, he caught the story within.

A man, a young man, had set out to find his future, and instead found only war and famine. When he returned back home, though, he wasn’t distressed. He realized that there was as much sadness as there was beauty, and if he was going to find one, then he must endure the other. Rhett remembered her writing songs like this back in school, a pencil tucking her long hair in a bun, hunched over the couch with a notepad in her lap, turning philosophy into song. They often played music together, too, sitting in the living room or on the campus lawn, guitars out. She’d glow in the sunlight, legs crossed, guitar in her lap, right where it was meant to be. He saw her like that as she played, as she lost herself to the music, closed her eyes and scaled pure notes all over the place. He missed it, in all honesty, he missed so much of yesterday.

She played about ten songs, as it was a small venue, but every single one was incredible. There was no doubt in Rhett’s mind that Mia had made it, in whatever small way she had, based on talent alone. She was incredible, a different sound than him, and by far a different type of person, but wonderful all the same. She had a charm that was both dark and light, realistic and fantasy, and she had found her own original style while still falling into that recognizable guitarist persona. Mia was a contradiction in the best way, and Rhett’s cheeks were tight from smiling by the time she took a bow and left the stage.

After the show, Rhett hung around for a while, talking to some people about music, about Amelia, but, thankfully, wasn’t recognized. If any of the people his age did recognize him, they didn’t say anything, as they probably understood that even rockstars need a night alone to see an acoustic show. When Mia came out and greeted her handful of fans, she told those that swarmed her that she needed to speak to someone and found Rhett directly.

“Randy!” she said, holding her thin arms out and wrapping them around Rhett’s middle.

“It’s Rhett,” he replied awkwardly, patting her on the back.

She pulled away and beamed up at him, “I know that, I’m only teasing, big guy! How you been, honey?”

Rhett smiled at her, but something sad must have twitched in his expression, because Mia’s soft eyes darted all over his face, and she frowned. “Oh no,” she said. “Something’s got you down, hasn’t it?”

Rhett didn’t know how she knew, but she did, and with a wave to her fans, she took him backstage and listened as she collected her things. He sat in a big green chair in the corner as he told her all about Link, their tour, Mike, and their fight. It was hard to recount the fight, but he did, every detail, and Mia listened and nodded in all the right places, saying nothing. Rhett admired the back room as he talked. He’d seen his fair share of backstage rooms, big spaces and lounges for musicians to rest in before a set, but this wasn’t like that at all. It was cramped and small, just one big mirror on a desk and a rack of coats taking up most of the empty space. It was dark and dusty and tight, but Mia didn’t seem to mind. She lived her life by going from one place to the next, one café to another. It’s all just places, she told him once. Home is who you’re with, how you feel. Where you stay are just stops along the way. She was wise like that.

By the time she was taking her guitar with her and ushering Rhett out of the room, she was saying, “You really made it big, haven’t you? Can’t say I’m envious, I enjoy this quiet life,” not mentioning Rhett and Link’s fight at all. Rhett supposed they’d come to it later. First they needed to catch up.

“But you have made a name for yourself, I mean you’re playing shows regularly.”

“Just the right amount, I think. I couldn’t handle doing what you do. Too much too quickly, too much time in the spotlight. You need to make time to live your life.”

Down the stairs of the backstage space, then up some more and out onto the street. Rhett thought about this. They stopped by her van, where she unloaded her guitar, then continued to walk through the night.

“I live my life,” Rhett said.

“Yeah? Then why haven’t you come to see me more often? You said we’d keep up.” She didn’t sound angry, as Mia was never angry and almost never had been (except for that time in their senior year when she found out her boyfriend was sleeping with her best friend - my goodness, Rhett didn’t hear the end of it for weeks, “forgive and forget, life moves on,” what’s that?), but her soft voice was tinged with disappointment.

Rhett felt awful, “I’m sorry, Mia, I really have no excuse. I should have made time for old friends, it's just… Music.”

Mia turned her face up to the stars, streetlights round like lit sand dollars, pink glow from late-night shops catching in her silver spiral earrings. “Music.”

They saw each other a few more times after that first show, which Rhett was grateful for. They had coffee, walked in parks, saw some shows, toured museums. It was nice. Rhett needed to distract himself, fill his time away from Link with good vibes, good memories. He didn’t tell Mia that she was an excuse to get out of his house and away from Link, but if she knew (and she probably did), she didn’t say anything. She was good like that, she knew when she was needed, when her calming presence and easy voice was sought out because of its healing properties. She didn’t mind, and Rhett was happy. Sad, still twisted up about Link, but happy to be with her, to have her for a few days and talk to her about everything, talk everything out. Eventually, she mentioned the fight and gave her two cents.

She didn’t tell Rhett why Link was upset, although she probably knew, and instead gave him this advice:

“You’re here with me, and I understand that, but you should be with him. Nothing is going to get better unless you say something, unless you swallow your pride and use that brilliant head of yours to work out what you should say. Then approach him when he’s calm, explain that you’re confused but still so, so sorry, and everything will be fine. He is your person, Rhett. This is just a wart on the long stretch of skin that is your life together. I believe in you.” She gave him a comforting smile, hand on his, before she said, “Oh, and I know you’re in love with him. I know he’s reason we didn’t get together. You’re not that slick, Mr. McLaughlin.” And then she was gone, as quickly as she had come.

Rhett was satisfied, even as she’d completely called him out, and he didn’t see her again for a long time, though he did call her more often, just like he promised.

He took a day just to think about what she’d said, knowing that she was right. He had to approach Link, confess that he was confused, but apologize all the same.

The next day, he awoke with an idea. Link had told him, bitterly, that he should forget about the letters and try to write a song. What Link didn’t know was that Rhett had already been working on a song for a while, one of the last ones Mike expected from him. Nervous but excited, Rhett decided to finally buckle down and finish it. It was about Link, of course, but it wasn’t done, wasn’t solid. If Rhett could finish it, _really_ finish it, music and lyrics, and play it for Link… Maybe he’d understand. Maybe he would accept his apology, know that he was here for the long haul and wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. The only thing was that the song would be a bit, well, _telling_. If he was going to sing it for Link, _to_ Link, Link might get more than he bargained for. Rhett sat up in bed and flung off the sheets. It was a risk he’d have to take.

He spent the next few days finishing it, hiding away in the studio at home and plucking out the chords until it sounded right. It was hard work, and everything sounded wrong at first, but if he was going to do it, he had to do it right, and he didn’t give up until he was satisfied, proud of his creation.

Rhett tried as best he could to make the song as beautiful as Link was. Wild and powerful, but understated and classic, not too much, not more than necessary. Link had a grace about him that wasn’t demanded to be seen, though his beauty was unparalleled. Perhaps it was that Rhett had known him for so long, so he felt familiar, or perhaps it was that it took a second glance to really catch how blue Link’s eyes were. He was handsome, tall, and fit, with a gorgeous smile to match, but it was his creativity and passion that really put him above the rest. He never half-assed anything, he was always working to do his best. He worked on songs for hours, training his voice to get just the right sound, hit all the best notes. And as stressed as he got, as anxious, he never really took it out on Rhett. He might’ve been a bit snippy and definitely sassy, but he’d never really blame Rhett for how hard he worked. The most recent fight was the first in a long time where Link had really snapped, and Rhett had figured that it was probably his fault. He probably said something he shouldn’t have, something careless. He watched what he said most of the time, but he was young, and sometimes things slipped out that he didn’t mean. And when Link took it the wrong way, or the right way, but just a bit too sensitive, the result was… Well, this.

As painful as it was, Rhett understood that he needed the time Link had given him to figure his shit out. It was enough time and distance to miss Link, rather than spite him, and miss him he definitely did. He missed him so much, he missed his voice, his laughter, his ideas, the way he rolled his eyes when Rhett said something ridiculous. He missed his body, too, just brushing up against his, his knee pressed against him as they sat on the couch, the way he could clap him on the shoulder when he was proud of him, how firm his muscles looked when he stretched or flexed. There was so much to miss, enough to put into an incredible song, and Rhett was bittersweetly grateful.

More than a full week had passed since the fight, almost two, when Rhett was finally ready. Link was still not speaking to him, but at least he was able to be in the same room as him. They’d often spend silent days together, Link working on what Rhett assumed to be his own songs in the living room while Rhett added the finishing touches on his in the kitchen. Neither of them knew what the other was writing about, but it didn’t matter, Rhett knew it would be good, considering how much time and effort they both put in.

On the day Rhett was going to approach Link, he decided to call his brother first for a bit of confidence. He hid away in his bedroom and spoke softly, not wanting Link to hear from the other room, though he usually couldn’t be woken once he had passed out.

Cole picked up early that morning, sounding rushed, and said he’d call him back in a moment. He did, a few minutes later, now alone and less breathless, and asked Rhett what was up.

“I had a fight with Link about two weeks ago, and I’m going to apologize today and then play him a song I wrote.”

“Woah, woah, woah, slow down. You had a fight?”

“Two weeks ago, that’s what I said.”

“I know, what was it about?”

“I’m not sure.”

“What?”

“I’m not sure what the fight was about, all I know is that I’m tired of silence, and I’m going to talk to him.”

Cole sighed, “Alright… You sure you know what you’re doing, little brother?”

“Not really, but I’m going to try.”

Quiet, a shuffle on the other end, as if Cole had put his face in his hands. He was never disappointed in Rhett, only ever supportive, but Rhett couldn’t blame him for his hesitance. He didn’t have all the facts, and his idea didn’t sound so thought out. Rhett tried to convince him.

“I know what I’m doing, Cole. It sounds like overkill, but it’s not. I need to do something special to try and get him back, this is the longest it’s ever been. We’d always work it out sooner rather than later, but now it’s almost too late. I need to really make a statement, and considering one of the last things he said to me was to write a song, I think he deserves to hear what I’ve been working on. I have to show him that not only do I miss him as a friend, but as partner, a coworker. I need to give a little.”

“…You sound like you’ve thought about this a lot.”

“I have. It’s been nothing but thinking about this. It’s killing me.”

“Rhett, can I say something?”

Rhett’s stomach clenched. “Sure, man.”

“I don’t know if I’ve ever really said this, not in so many words, but… Rhett, I know you’re in love with Link.”

His heart was racing, “Cole - I’m - what?”

“I’ve always known, Rhett. And it makes sense. He’s the best thing that ever happened to you, I truly believe that, and I support you in this decision to work it out with him. But I want you to take this opportunity, this song, to really show him what he means to you. I’m guessing that a lot of what is happening now comes from unresolved tensions and miscommunication. I know that’s what you musician-types feed off, what you write your music about, but at some point, you have to tell the truth. The full truth. Rhett. Rhett, are you listening?”

“Yes.”

“You have to tell him you love him, Rhett. It’s been too long.”

Rhett didn’t know what to say other than, “Okay. I will.”

“Good. Now, are you going home for Christmas this year?”

They talked for a while more, just little things, brotherly things, checking in, and when Cole finally hung up, he reminded Rhett of what he had to do. Rhett was terrified, but he agreed. It seemed both Mia Johnson and his brother knew of his feelings and what the next step was if things were to get better, and he had to listen to them, as scary as it was.

When Rhett approached Link later that afternoon, it seemed Link already knew what was coming. He was working on his song on the couch in the living room, which, by the looks of it, was almost finished. He was sitting there, leaning over, elbows on his knees, half-full cup of coffee on the table, beautiful as ever. Rhett carefully, quietly, sat in the chair adjacent.

“Is that the song?” he asked, voice soft.

“Yeah.”

Good. Acknowledgement.

“How’s it going?”

“Almost done.”

Quiet. Link hadn’t met his eyes.

“Link. Link, look at me, please.”

Link obeyed. Rhett’s breath hitched. Those eyes, goodness. He could write novels about those eyes. He’d have to settle for music, though. “I want to apologize for what I said. In all honesty, I’m not really sure what I did say, and I probably should know, but I don’t.

“I’m young, Link. We both are. Sometimes I say stupid things, things I don’t know I’ve said, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know when I’ve messed up. I know I hurt you, and I’m sorry.” Nothing could stop him now, Link was holding steady, blue gaze unwavering, impassive. His pink lips didn’t so much as twitch as Rhett went on. “And I hate this, I hate this silence. I miss you so much, and I want it to all be okay. I care about you, you know that, and I care about this band, so I took your advice. I wrote a song. I’ve been working on it for a while, but it’s finally done.”

He waited. It seemed Link knew that this was his moment to speak. “What’s it called?” he asked. His brows knit as if he wanted to say something else, something mean, but withheld it.

“ _Wild Lights._ ”

Something passed in Link’s eyes, the barest hint of something, the tiniest pink blush creeping across his cheeks. Rhett thought it was a good sign, and he couldn’t keep himself from smiling at it, but he wouldn’t be sidetracked.

“Do you forgive me?” he asked, holding his breath.

“For the most part,” Link said, still unsmiling but teasing just a bit.

“Good. Then I have something to show you. Come on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized there are so many flashbacks in every chapter, but the thing is that both these dudes are hardcore pining for each other, so of course they're going to be thinking of the past, of when things were good...
> 
> Also, I was listening to Joni Mitchell on Youtube while editing Mia's part of this chapter, and one song that came up was called [Amelia](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gcTDoi9JQiY). I laughed a lot.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Link was awash in feeling, unbelieving, wishing more than anything that he had Rhett there to hold onto, to ask what was happening, but here and now, Rhett was the conductor of this incredible symphony, and Link was left to take it all on himself.

Rhett lead Link through the halls and towards their studio. It was quiet, and Link kept his eyes on the broad stretch of Rhett’s shoulders and the blend of dark amber hair at the base of his neck. They’d gone to the studio together numerous times to work on music, naturally, but now, Rhett was leading Link towards something he wasn’t sure of. Rhett was going to play him a song he’d written, which he’d sometimes do, though when he did, it was usually from the seats of a tour bus or their living room couch. This time, Link had no idea what was in store, especially considering that this song was surely an apology.

Link was grateful for that, of course. He hated fighting with Rhett, he hated himself for shutting Rhett out. He was just scared, unsure if he was strong enough to initiate the reconciliation. Rhett had been though, and he came to Link so genuinely wanting to fix things, bless him. He was too good for Link, he was too much sometimes. Link loved and hated him for it.

As they walked through the house, Link pulled his eyes away from Rhett’s back to distract himself with the paintings and pictures on the walls. He remembered decorating the place with Rhett when they first moved in straight out of college, choosing decor, fitting paintings in just the right spot, golden frames new and clear of dust. Link blinked in the dark hall as he passed photographs of them, recounting every moment presented in a rush. In one, he and Rhett were at a diner, a huge plate of fries and burgers between them, grins as cheesy as the feast before them. Another, Rhett tackling Link in a field of green, football just barely leaving Link’s hands as he went down. Then there were the photos that he and Rhett had taken: landscapes of the city, the woods, their trip up to San Francisco when they’d put their camera on a timer and went to stand before the Golden Gate, just two black silhouettes against a stretch of orange and a sea of glittering lights. There were various shots of their shows, too, the early ones. Seedy bars and grungy clubs hosted the young Dogz, Rhett and Link standing front and center with bad haircuts, Jason and Mike behind them looking relatively the same. The photos weren’t the most profressional, as some were blurry and shaky, stage lights reflecting in the lens in colored circles, though there were some of Rhett or Link up close, clear and crisp, so defined that Link could see the sweat on his brow and the tint of purple shimmer on his eyelids. He was lost to the music, singing his heart out. He smiled softly, he hadn’t even been trained back then, and if he hadn’t started, he was sure his growls and squeaks would have wrecked his voice.

Rhett was now leading him down and into the studio, into darkness. Link was trying to lose himself in thought, think about the past to keep himself from the present, from what Rhett was about to do. He wanted to hear the song, no doubt about that, but he was worried. There was something Rhett’s voice and the way he was so quiet as they walked that told Link it wouldn’t be any old party song. If he knew Rhett, and he did, his strange silence now was building up to something. Link just didn’t know what it was.

They entered the studio, Rhett still in the lead, flicking on the overhead light, and immediately Link felt conflicted. The smell and quiet of the studio was familiar and calming, the look of it, too, but knowing that it was Rhett’s to use now, that Rhett had prepared something for him… Anxiety. Excited, curious, unparalleled anxiety. Link tried to tell himself that this was Rhett, and Rhett would never do anything to make him uncomfortable or overwhelmed, at least he didn’t try to, but the nagging feeling that something was about to happen was still there. Link fell back.

He watched as Rhett continued into the studio, oblivious. True to its name, their music space was just that. It was their place, perfect for recording early versions of songs, working with sound until it felt right. They had another studio somewhere deep in LA, but this was theirs. This is what they had in their home, part of their souls. So, naturally, it was decorated to match.

Link, still needing a distraction, looked around. The soundproof glass room with the control panel and mixing board was off to the left, an extra wall adjacent on the other side. A similar glass window separated it from the recording booth, along with a door. Behind it, a couch and a coffee table, one single plant in the corner. Link would often wait in there while Rhett, Mike, and Jason conversed about the music. While he did have feedback to give them as the lead singer, sometimes he just needed to step back and let them do their thing. Then he’d come back out and sing for them, pink rising in his cheeks as Rhett stood off to the side, hands in his back pockets, watching intensely. Still, Link’s voice never wavered. It had to be strong when under scrutiny like that, especially from Rhett. So, he’d just sing their songs in different ways until they needed to tweak it again, retreat back into the room, flop back on the couch and nurse a beer, maybe a joint, as he waited to be called again.

And, speaking of that room, Link had definitely thought more than once what it might be like to take Rhett in there and steam up the windows, jostle the coffee table. No use thinking about that now, but the thought arose all the same as Link flicked his eyes to Rhett, who was just then so unhelpfully bending over to push the cords away and tidy up a bit, jeans stretching over his bum as he did.

The cords ran all around the main space, shoved against walls, connecting amps and electric guitars and microphones, like black coiling snakes you didn’t want to step on. The recording area itself was simple, plenty of space for whatever they wanted to do. Sometimes, Mike and Jason would come over and they’d all sit around on stools, multiple mics rising up to meet their mouths as they worked on harmonies and vocalizations, conversations they scattered throughout their songs. Today was different, though, just one stool and one microphone. Rhett’s.

Rhett was still fiddling with the cords, though to Link they looked fine, so Link studied the walls this time. Again, photos of the band, of Rhett and Link and Jason all together, smoke curling out of their mouths, Mike in the back, scowling. Abstract paintings and swatches of colors, as well as he and Rhett’s favorite musicians for inspiration. Obviously, Lionel Richie was there, classic pose framed right in the center of the wall straight across from the doorway. That’s where Link lingered now, in the doorway, unsure if Rhett wanted him to come closer or not. He felt fine right there, and Rhett didn’t beckon him forward, so he stayed put. 

The silence went on as Rhett finally took his guitar - acoustic - by the neck and brought it towards the stool. He set it in its holder beside the mic and looked up as Link finally spoke to him.

“So, what’s this song about?”

Rhett smiled, cheeky, pleased that Link had initiated. “Can’t tell you that, man, it’d ruin the surprise.”

Link didn’t want to smile at that, nor at the crinkle by Rhett’s eyes and the peeking red of his bottom lip. He forced his features to stay cold - he hadn’t lied, he’d forgiven Rhett for the most part, but he wasn’t ready to glow with warmth. It was getting harder, though, especially because Rhett was so ridiculously handsome in the low yellow light of the studio. “What about a word? Just one.”

Rising himself up, tall and strong, Rhett cocked his head and cast his eyes up in thought. Then he nodded, stating simply, “Beauty.”

Link’s stomach clenched. Rhett was definitely one to admire beauty, he knew that, but an entire song… It was probably about a girl, honestly, a girl he’d known way back when that he hadn’t yet written about. Or maybe just girls in general, stitching lyrics and music together to pay tribute to their soft skin and long hair. That must be it. It was either that or beauty in general, but by the smirk in Rhett’s beard as he turned away, Link assumed the latter.

He willed himself to say something easy as Rhett walked towards the sound booth and mixing board. He called to Link from inside, “Hit the lights,” and Link complied, as nervous as he was. He flicked the switch, and for a moment, the studio was a wash of black, the only visible light dots of red and green from the equipment.

Link held his breath. He was suddenly aware of how alone he and Rhett were, in their home studio, still and silent in the dark. Then another click and the lights came up again, although this time they were blue. The studio was then illuminated by pure cobalt light. Link looked for the source, seeing that Rhett had angled bright set lights towards the center of the room, blue colored film over the lenses. They cast the space in between mixing room and lounge in levels of blue, the brightest beaming down on Rhett’s stool, the rest fading dark at the edges of the room. Link had never seen it like this, it was an entirely different feel from the stuffy, stingy room they so often recorded in. It was now new and intimate, and as Rhett sheepishly walked out from the mixing room and into the center, Link found he couldn’t quite look at him.

Silence settled in again as Rhett seemed to be ready. He took a deep breath, and Link matched it, butterflies coming alive in his stomach. Rhett moved to his stool, settling himself on it as he reached for his guitar. He moved it into his lap, fitting perfectly right where it was meant to be. He moved the strap around his body and leaned forward to pull the mic closer. Link realized he’d forgotten to breathe.

Still standing in the doorway, Link crossed his arms and watched as Rhett shifted into his musician persona, sitting cool and calm on a stool with only his guitar and a microphone. He was wearing his favorite dark brown leather jacket, open to reveal a black t-shirt with white lettering. Classic grey jeans led down long legs and black sneakers rested against the wooden prongs of the stool. His amber-blond hair was an interesting color in the blue light, and when he turned his attention on Link, his eyes were even worse.

They sparkled deep grey-green as he looked at Link, closing the empty space between them with their intensity, drawing him in and saying, “It’s a bit different than our usual sound…”

Link could feel his heart beating, anxious heat and sweat gathering beneath his clothes. “Show me,” he replied, voice so soft and husky, it was barely a whisper.

Rhett nodded. Shifting once more on the stool, cast blue in the studio light, he leaned forward and into the mic. “Tonight, these lyrics will deliver you the words that I can’t say.”

If Link had been nervous before, heart fluttering, nerves afire, it was nothing to what he felt now. He swallowed the lump in his throat, keeping his eyes on Rhett and Rhett alone. This was it.

Rhett closed his eyes and parted his lips, gentle hands poised on the strings of his guitar, ready to strike. He then closed his mouth as if he decided not to say anything else, and after a tense moment, those lovely fingers began to play.

Link watched Rhett’s right hand as the guitar sang, soft, acoustic notes that bubbled and danced through the quiet of the studio. The notes were punk mixed with a bit of country, just like Rhett, and Link knew he was about to hear something pulled right from Rhett’s heart. Rhett continued to play without lyrics, the intro longer than usual, and Link knew why. He loved to play, just him and the guitar, nothing else. After a moment, though, the intro swooped back around and Rhett opened his mouth to sing.

 _If you were to ask me,_ he crooned, slow and soft. Link’s stomach was in knots. _“What’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?” I’d only have one answer…_

Link’s mouth was dry. He tried to keep an open mind, but his heart was tender, and Rhett’s voice was the best thing he’d ever heard in his life.

 _A boy,_ Rhett continued, lips inches from the mic, gentle fingers at the strings, _in the stage lights. A wild beauty._

The tender heart caved in on itself.

_A spirit doused in memory, astronomy, and empathy, and when he looks at me, I see our history._

Everything hit Link all at once. Now, he was certain. There was no way, absolutely no way, that this song wasn’t about him. Rhett had written it about him, was here before him, singing it to him. Link just stared on, smitten by the blue hue Rhett gleamed in, the way his long legs were bent, guitar in his lap, leather jacket making him seem big and brawny, though his voice was still soft as he sang. He hadn’t yet raised his eyes, so Link could only see a navy shadow under his brow, but he so wished Rhett would look up. _Look up and confirm, Rhett,_ Link silently pleaded. _This is about me, isn’t it?_

Rhett looked up. Link forgot to breathe again.

Locked on Link, his eyes were dark grey, sparkling with a scattered wisp of sapphire stars, lips so perfectly slow as he continued to sing. _There’s a blue in his eyes like you’ve never known, and when those wild lights ignite them, he glows._

Knees weak, Link slumped back against the wall, sweat forming where his hands were tucked into his arms. This couldn’t be real.

 _If there’s beauty and softness anywhere,_ Rhett continued to husk, voice deep and gravelly, a tinge of accent coming through to waltz with the melody, _it’s there - under the gold, a lavender haze of galaxy night._ Rhett looked away. _And by God, he thrives._

Link tried to think, he tried to grasp onto any hold of reality, picture what Rhett was singing about without letting his heart get in the way. Rhett sang as if painting an abstract scene, colors swirling, a gold and lavender galaxy as he sat cast in blue, edges blurring around him, fading into black. Link was awash in feeling, unbelieving, wishing more than anything that he had Rhett there to hold onto, to ask what was happening, but here and now, Rhett was the conductor of this incredible symphony, and Link was left to take it all on himself.

Another bit of guitar then, music as wonderful and well-crafted as lyrics, and Rhett was back to focusing on his hands. He dipped his head and shifted in his spot, and from where Link stood, he could see Rhett’s broad shoulders rising and falling as if he was wiling himself with deep, calming breaths to continue, to do it well. Link fell for him all over again with the sweetness of it. He matched Rhett’s breaths, demanding his heart to settle, as it’d been ravaging his chest like a butterfly with lead wings battering its cage. He was afraid of what might happen should he let it out.

Before he could, Rhett was back, singing the chorus. The melody changed, just a bit, faster, and Rhett’s fingers switched chords. It all flowed wonderfully, of course. Rhett was a master of his craft, and this song was all his to prove it.

 _A fire, a ferocity,_ he toned, stretching out the words so they didn’t sound like words at all, but sounds, deep sounds echoing in Link’s bones, wrapping ‘round his heart, soothing and sparking the butterfly all at once. _Untamed and passionate, arousing curiosity._ Link wanted to smile at Rhett’s chosen words, the intelligent soul, but he was transfixed, hanging on every single one, stomach coiling as Rhett rolled the word “arousing” over his tongue.

_It’s quiet suburbia streets meets a sea of screaming love, charged with sparks of grace like an electric dove._

Link remembered. He felt it. He understood what it meant to blend the homey, easy feeling of Buies Creek with the busy, broadcasted lives they lead now. A sea of screaming fans met them where once there was only dirt, only cows and rivers and camping under starry skies. He remembered biking down those quiet streets with Rhett right beside him, and in the blur of the memory, as they rounded a corner, they burst through the dark of a backstage and out into the lights, thousands screaming for them. Small and afraid, they glanced at each other, sweaty palms on bike handles, and when they looked back, they were older, bodies filling and stretching out, stubble and hair on their faces, muscles stretching under their tight clothes, feeling alive in places they hadn’t yet known. They were different, but still together, there, onstage, living life just as they always had, the two of them. Small and delicate lives bloomed into electric music, and the white wings of Rhett’s dove carried it right into Link’s soul - he understood.

 _My youth is yours,_ Link’s spirit said.

All of this, of course, happened within seconds of hearing the lyrics, and as Rhett took a breath and began the next verse, Link was already falling deeper, positive now that this was their song, this was their story.

Rhett confirmed it with the next line, _It’s fireworks on warm summer nights, it’s a boy and his mic under the wild lights._

A boy and his mic - that was Link. He still couldn’t believe it, but he had to. He had to. He had to believe that after all those years of standing with Rhett in the audience of a concert, purple, blue, and yellow lights swinging ‘round the arena, bodies swaying and pulsing beside him, smoke and noise rising into the night sky, two college boys falling in love with music as they watched, vibrations in their bones and souls, he had to believe that after all of that, he was now on the other side. He was the musician that got to see this, that got to be sung to by his bandmate before they recorded the song for real. He was in another world, completely, the other side of the stage, yet still, Rhett was with him. They’d crossed over from lovers to players, fans to stars, and here and now, with Rhett all dressed down, no electric guitars or booming amps, just him and his music, Link remembered why they did it. Music was a part of them, it was in their blood. Like coffee or THC, they ran on music, converted experience into song, painting not with a canvas and brushes, but an instrument, a microphone. This was their empire, and they ruled over it not with magazine articles and sold out venues, but moments like this, in the creation stage, just the two or three or four of them, working, writing, singing to each other. This was their art, this was their world, and no matter what happened, at least he and Rhett shared that. This was their heart.

As Link thought of this, Rhett had swooped slow through the title words, wild lights, their deep echo still ringing in Link’s bones as he ended the chorus and moved onto the next verse.

_Now, that’s not all to him, I’ll tell you that, no. He’s a tale of adventure, of abandoned houses and forever promises._

Whisked back to memory, Link followed the music into an old house, wooden planks creaking under two young boys’ sneakers, giggling and whispering as they climbed the stairs. They sat together, he and Rhett, looking into each other’s eyes. Specs of dust floated in the stale air, making everything slow, as if gravity had given them just this one moment. Hands close on the floorboards, fingertips just barely touching, they then made a promise, as they often did, to stay together, to take it all on, just the two of them. They signed this promise in blood farther down the road, later in their story.

Apparently, Rhett remembered this as well, because his sweet, honeysuckle, homestyle voice called Link back from memory, _He’s got a blood brother who loves him and seen it all by his side, and if you gave him a chance, he’d say, “Thanks, bo, for a helluva ride.”_

Tears welled, and Link tugged his arms tighter into each other to keep them at bay. Finally, after long moments of a solemn ballad, Rhett smiled, almost laughing at himself for what Link to be assumed the use of the word “helluva.” He licked his lips and continued to sing, all the while, seemingly oblivious the emotional turmoil and realization Link was facing not ten feet away.

_“I’ve seen you blue and grey and green, every color in-between, but there’s somethin’ ‘bout the way you shine,” he says, “golden under those wild lights.”_

Rhett was doing the classic love song thing, speaking as himself through a third person. Link’s blood brother before him said these words, as did the brother of the golden boy within the melody. It wasn’t subtle in the slightest, honestly, and - _Wait._ Link caught himself. _Love song._ His heart began to race again _._ He’d just admitted to himself that this was, indeed, a love song, as it clearly was, but… Link already knew that Rhett had written it about him, about them. The lead-winged butterfly in his chest fell to the stone floor of its cell.

“Oh my god,” he whispered.

* * *

Rhett was singing the chorus again, head down, unaware that Link was panicking, figuring out just exactly what he thought he would. His own heart, a lace-winged butterfly, you could say, was light and nervous as he sang, but he knew what he was doing. He knew that the song was obvious, that he outed himself in the classic way, but he wanted to. He  _wanted_ Link to know. He’d set it all up for a reason, he’d taken Amelia and Cole’s advice - he was telling Link that he was in love with him.

In the blue of the studio, lips at the mic, hands on his guitar, he sang a song of eternal devotion, and when he looked again, Link seemed flustered, cheeks going pink, eyes widened in the dark. He finished the chorus, dragged out the pure vowels in those two blasted words, and continued onto the next part.

 _I don’t know much ‘bout what’s come to pass or what may be,_ Rhett confessed, _but I know it’s always been you and me, and that’s the way it’s gonna be._ He knew that his lyrics weren’t particularly wordy or poetic, at least in some parts, and that he rhymed far too many ‘E’ sounds, but he didn’t care. This is what he meant to say, and this is how he was saying it. He dropped his eyes from Link’s face to his body, all hard lines and tall stature, down to his crossed ankles and sneakers. He looked so cool and chill against the doorway, and while he was blushing a bit, Rhett couldn’t see the extent of it, and he wondered what Link was thinking.

He went on, _Some things will come that we can’t face, like ghosts and girls and a lifelong chase, but listen, brother… I know you, and you know me, and if there’s one thing I want to see, it’s a brilliant smile and those appled cheeks as we speak about our destiny._

Rhett hoped Link understood the use of superlatives to be a motif and not just because he was lazy and couldn’t think of any other means of poignancy, but again, he tried not to care. It may not have been the most incredibly elaborate song, but it was his, it was Link’s. It had heart, and that’s all that mattered.

He took a deep breath between verses, fingers going numb and hard as they picked at the strings. He was almost done, he could finish this and look up and Link would know, he could stand from the stool, set his guitar aside, ask, “What did you think?” and they would kiss. It would all be like he wanted, like he planned. Rhett left Link’s eyes and looked back down, leaning into the mic to finish his song.

 _We’ve traveled far to get to here, and this moment may barely be real, so take with you those wild lights, grab my hand, and we can disappear._ He played the remaining musical break, slowing down the tempo and willing his voice to stay smooth and deep. He went on, so close now, _So if you ask yourself what’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen, take a look right beside you,_ Rhett’s butterfly beat its fragile wings, _and maybe, this time, it’ll be me._

Slowing his fingers to fade the notes out, Rhett stilled his hands and breathed softly. He’d done it, he’d told him, in whatever way he had. He kept his eyes on his shoes, just for a moment, as he settled into the silence. He’d set this all up for Link, cast a blue atmosphere in the quiet studio, adorning the role of the subject in a blue period painting, a guitar in the rain, brushstrokes of color, navy and cerulean and gold and black. The rain was made from love, though, and with every hazy grey cloud of memory Rhett hoped his song had sent, Link must have understood. He had to understand that Rhett loved him, as a brother, as a friend, and as himself, themselves, whatever they were in this house of memories, this impossible year.

Rhett looked up, ready for everything, ready to explain himself and say it properly, but Link was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS WAS THE SCENE I WROTE THE ENTIRE FIC FOR LIKE SERIOUSLY
> 
> Who cares that we still have two chapters to go, this is the end for me - I did it, I figured out how to craft this emo shitpot of a chapter lmao... Oh, and sorry for the lag in updating, I had a few crazy weekends, and the next update might come a bit late too since I'm moving back up to the city (into an apartment!) and starting school in like nine days. Stay tuned, though!
> 
> Also, I know I'm not the best songwriter, I'm more of a narrator, if you couldn't tell, but I did try!
> 
> Peace out for now ✌


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps all their painful punk songs about twisted hearts and weighted words weren’t as great when actually played out, as Link wanted to sink into the floorboards, become a shadow and sulk away through the cracks in the wall, but Rhett had found him, just like he wanted, and now he had to face him.

The first thing Rhett did when he realized Link had left was blink. He stared at the studio doorway where his friend had once stood, only for a moment, blinking stupidly. Then, without thinking too hard, he set his guitar in its holster and bolted out the door.

He didn’t have time to think about the irony of the situation, chasing after Link through their house after chasing him all their lives, following so closely behind, loving so fiercely. He only let his legs carry him out of the studio, up the stairs, and through the hallway.

Heart racing, panic bubbling, Rhett wanted nothing more than to catch a flash of Link, dark hair and beautiful shoulders, to reach out and touch, ask him what he did wrong. _What did I do this time?_ Rhett’s hands slapped the walls as he rounded corners, framed photos quivering in their holds. _I messed it up again, didn’t I? I said too much, didn’t I?_ Eyes darting all over the narrow hallway, _Where is he, where is he?_

He wondered how far Link could have gone. Would he have left the house, did he fuck it up that badly? Or was he just hiding somewhere, waiting for Rhett to find him? Rhett prayed the latter, prayed he was right in sensing Link in the house. He first passed Link’s room, flinging the door open, sure that if Link was hiding anywhere, it’d be there. He was wrong. The room was empty and still, save for the curtains swaying in the breeze of Rhett’s powerful presence. Stomach tightening, breathing heavy for a tense moment, Rhett turned and continued searching.

_All the way into the kitchen? Did he just want a snack? Or the living room, hanging out? Was he bored? Did I bore him? Oh God, he hated it._

Now, you could argue that Rhett’s panic was an overreaction, that he shouldn’t have been this worried about Link’s disappearance, as he often went away without warning, but what you don’t understand is that this moment was the single most important in Rhett’s entire life. He has, quite literally, just confessed his romantic and spiritual adoration for Link, commenting on his magnificent beauty and importance in their shared story. For Link to whisk away at this time, right when Rhett needed him most, had him riled and nervous in a way he’d never known. For a fairly levelheaded person such as Rhett, this sort of anxiety and distress was unusual, and even a giant of a man like him couldn’t possibly know how to handle all of it at once. Instead, he was left to chase through the hallways of his own house, only for about thirty seconds total, feeling as if everything he’d ever hoped for was so close but so far, that what he wanted didn’t want him back.

And what he wanted right now was to find Link, though Link probably didn’t want to be found. All the same, Rhett was distressed, and in his haste, he nearly passed his own bedroom without a second thought. Something caught him, however, a lingering presence, a curiosity. He stopped outside his closed door, wondering if he’d left it open earlier that morning or not. He waited, heart thrumming in his chest, and took a shaky breath.

He reached out and opened the door. Link was waiting for him.

“Link.”

* * *

When Link felt Rhett enter the room and call out to him, all turmoil in his heart calmed just by the sound of his voice. His back was turned, arms crossed, and his vacant eyes were cast upon the city beyond Rhett’s bedroom window. It was dark, as Link hadn’t bothered to turn the lights on and the sun was just beginning to set, casting the room in shades of grey and purple. He wanted to sink into the floorboards, become a shadow and sulk away through the cracks in the wall, but Rhett had found him, just like he wanted, and now he had to face him. He said nothing as Rhett stayed where he was, unsure if he was welcome or not.

In the few seconds before Link turned around, he relived every emotion he’d felt from the moment Rhett started singing to him. At first, he was nervous, excited and curious but disbelieving. He didn’t believe Rhett would do this for him so soon after a fight. He didn’t believe it even more when it seemed Rhett had written the song about him, about their friendship. Link was even further confused and frankly, terrified, when he figured that Rhett’s sweet voice and dramatic lyrics were those of a love song and that he was the “girl” the rockstar wrote it about. It was all too much to handle, overwhelming in every sense, and as Rhett’s song came to a close, Link was swirling and unsure and could find no way out of it but to leave Rhett to finish the song alone.

He’d wandered through the house quickly, panicking, almost laughing at himself for reacting this way. After all the years he’d spent wondering what he’d do if Rhett suddenly up and confessed, he never thought his initial instinct would be some variant of fight or flight. He’d pictured it so differently in his head - either it’d be easy, both just _knowing_ , Rhett saying the words first, or they wouldn’t say anything at all, they’d just kiss and kiss until every kiss blended into making love and neither Rhett nor Link knew where one ended and the other began. It could have been like that… But it wasn’t.

It was panic. Panic because so many years Link had held out hope that it would be easy and flawless, and with Rhett standing behind him now in the dark room, air crackling with electric tension, he realized it wasn’t. This was something they were both going to have to face, to talk about.

All they had for solace was an invisible shred of courage and the way they felt, whatever that was. And though Rhett had tried so beautifully to tell Link what he felt, Link was more confused than ever. Still, he knew, in one way or another, if he was going to get through this and be okay, he had to get confirmation that what Rhett meant by his song was indeed romantic, or else all of this panic and worry would be for nothing.

But where to start?

“Rhett,” Link said, a good a place as any. He didn’t want to make it dramatic, truly, he didn’t want any swooping camera angles and dark vignette realizations, he just wanted to talk, but it was terrifying, absolutely, unavoidably terrifying. That fear, in itself, made the words come out slow and soft, with long, tense pauses between them. And the fact that he hadn’t yet turned around didn’t help either. He hated himself in that moment, actually. Strange, he’d been sung a love song by his one and only and ended up hating himself instead, how fitting. Perhaps all their painful punk songs about twisted hearts and weighted words weren’t as great when actually played out. Link grimaced.

Behind him, Rhett breathed quietly. He may not have been on the same page as Link, but he was there all the same, waiting, respectful. “Are you okay?”

Concern. _Goddammit, Rhett._ Too soft, too sweet, it couldn’t be helped. Finally, Link turned around, afraid but hopeless. Rhett looked so beautiful, of course he did, scared and worried, but beautiful. For a moment, Link felt like he was ten again, sleeping over at Rhett’s house in a thunderstorm, rain and sleet and wind shaking the whole house. Scared out of his wits, Link would look to him, asking, pleading, and Rhett’s big eyes would hold him steady and safe. _I’m here, brother,_ they seemed to say. _We can wait out the storm together. It’ll all be okay._

This was the storm, and here and now, Rhett’s eyes were just as soft.

Silence, then words: “Why did you do that?” Link didn’t mean to ask it this way, with such bitterness on his tongue, but he was lost, switching between a comfort memory and the anxious present, and he didn’t know what to do.

“I… I wanted to show you.” Rhett held Link’s gaze, as much as Link wished he’d break it to glance down at his shoes.

“Show me what?” Link knew the answer.

“How I felt about you.”

“And how do you feel about me?” He hated to question him, put him on the spot, but he was still anxious, still unsure, and he needed Rhett to spell it out for him, clearly, helpfully, like he always had.

Rhett ventured closer, apparently thinking now was a good time as any. Link was drawn to him, uncrossed his arms, and met him halfway. They were in Rhett’s bedroom, as intimate as could be, with nobody else in the house, and still they felt more distant and restrained than they’d been in all their years living in the south, playing onstage, and under public scrutiny.

A little more than a foot apart, and Link could see the darkness under Rhett’s sorrowful eyes. Pain tightened his chest. He’d put him through so much already, and now he was doing this to him. _Fix it._ “It’s okay, you don’t have to -“

“You’re my best friend,” Rhett interjected, “and I thought I was yours.”

God, it hurt so much. “You are, Rhett, of course you are.” Link’s bottom lip quivered, and he willed himself not to cry.

“Then why did you run from me?”

 _Honesty. Fix it all with honesty._ “I was scared.”

Such a small, broken sound, “Why?”

“Because you can’t do that, Rhett! You can’t just… Write a song and tell me everything that way. You could have just told me.” Link’s heart was beating loudly once again, but his voice went quiet, “you should have just told me…”

Rhett hung his head. “I couldn’t. You know I couldn’t.”

Silence between words this time, lots of it. They played a game, neither of them really sahe couldn’t stand dancing around it. Someone had to say it.

Link spoke, testing, “We wouldn’t have had to fake it.”

“We didn’t fake it.”

“Yes we did. You said so yourself, in the interview. You said there was… There was nothing going on between us.” Rhett didn’t say anything. Link needed verbal confirmation, so he pressed on. “There is, isn’t there? Or there was?”

“Link…” Rhett really did look at his shoes this time. “There’s always been.”

Now it was Link’s turn to hold Rhett’s gaze steady. He waited until Rhett looked up and kept him there, suspended, challenging him to speak again, to explain. _Tell me the truth, Rhett. I need to hear it._

Rhett obeyed. “You felt it too.” It wasn’t a question. “All the time, always. You always knew it wasn’t just… We weren’t just…” Struggling to say it, and Link could barely watch, but he forced himself to. In the same moment he couldn’t dare watch Rhett flail, he knew nothing was important as this, right now. He needed to remember everything, every twitch in Rhett’s face. This was everything, so many years finally coming down to one single conversation they’d never had. This was it.

Rhett went on, shifting the game, saying, “You could have said something.”

“Don’t blame me!” In a flash - childish, brotherly banter, as if neither of them really wanted to remember what they were talking about. They were talking about a lifetime of suppressed romantic feelings that, apparently, both of them knew about but never brought to the forefront. Link couldn’t be blamed for all of it, and he wouldn’t let Rhett dump it on him, as he had tried, he really had. “I tried,” he explained, thoughts and voice finally balanced. “In high school.”

“When?”

“Before the prom. I told you that I was grateful for our friendship.”

“Our friendship!”

“Well, y’know, it was _implied._ ”

Rhett laughed, finally easing just a bit of the tension, though they still hadn’t really said it yet. Link felt light and safe, like Rhett was really there with him, on the same page, that they were finally figuring this out. Quick as it came, though, the feeling was gone, and a stone sunk back to the pit in Link’s stomach.

“Implied isn’t good enough. Not anymore,” Rhett said then, painting the stone white with his words and letting it fall down, down into the dark.

“So that’s why you wrote the song, then? To really say it?” The stone was present and heavy, but Link wouldn’t let it consume him. He had to get them back to this, back to now.

Sighing, Rhett put his hand on Link’s shoulder. The first touch. “Yes.”

Link moved closer, Rhett’s hand sliding gently over his shoulder, fingers creeping over the curve of it, tender. Link wanted to be in his space, in his warmth. Rhett put his other hand on Link, matching, drawing him in. Link’s heart fluttered.

Dizzy with everything now - Rhett, his body, his touch, his heat - Link wanted Rhett to say it for real. He needed to hear it. “Say it now,” he demanded.

Rhett didn’t answer, but his eyes flicked over Link’s face, searching, closer now than they’d been in days, so close Link could see the freckles across the bridge of his nose and his stormy grey-green irises, pupils so black and wide that Link might drown himself in them. Rhett looked down at his lips. Link felt himself ask him again, sounding so distant but so soft, his own eyes on Rhett’s mouth. “Say it, Rhett.”

But Rhett didn’t say it, he just kissed Link instead. He took Link by the biceps and pressed his face in, meeting his mouth roughly, so rough, in fact, that Link stumbled backwards. It hurt, just a bit, teeth and all, but after that small moment of shock, Link finally caught up.

Rhett was kissing him. His lips, so soft beneath that amber beard, were pressed firm and damp against his own and it was _real,_ it was _happening._ As his mind went blank and fuzzy with the feel of it, Link closed his eyes and knew of only one thing he could do - kiss him back. So he did. He wrestled his arms out from Rhett’s hold and skated his hands around his waist until they found grip at his body, pulling him in, letting the warmth drown him. Now, Rhett’s lips didn’t feel like lips at all but something else, the whole of him, the weight and heat and solidity of him blending with Link’s body and everything, every word they hadn’t yet said, everything they couldn’t say, coming out in that one kiss.

Just one wasn’t enough, though. Of course it wasn’t. It couldn’t be just one after years of pining, after a love like theirs.

Rhett kissed him again, breaking it just to swivel his head and lurch his tall body closer, bend Link over to really get his mouth. He met Link again with open lips and a gentle tongue, flicking against Link’s bottom lip, asking, but impatient. Link gave it to him, parting his lips and letting him in, tasting him for real.

They stayed suspended like that in the middle of Rhett’s bedroom, swaying on the spot, hands finding anything and everything to touch, as they kissed in every way they could. Link was frantic as he swept his hands under Rhett’s leather jacket and pushed it off his shoulders, throwing it away into the blurred ether, never breaking the kiss. He found his body again, warm and solid beneath his thin t-shirt, and let his fingers roam.

They wrote songs about kisses like this, where two forces matched in power, one surging to deepen it while the other took and took and took. Neither of them knew who lead it, but it didn’t matter. It was wonderful, heady and hot and wet and long, fingers trailing waists and hips and biceps and backs, mouths breathing hot in ears, lips dancing along necks. It was everything two rockstars could sing about in different words on every album, but completely original all the same. This had never happened before, not with them, not in this life, but it was happening now, and it was happening fast.

When they’d tasted each other as much as they could, sucking on tongues as lewdly as possible, Rhett started walking Link backwards towards the bedroom wall. Link was grateful for this, as his knees were weak and his legs threatened to give out with every small grunt and moan Rhett made as he moved to kiss another part of his face. Quickly, but not surprisingly, Link found he wanted more, whatever that meant, and as his back bumped against the bedroom wall, Rhett’s hands seemed to want the same.

They were everywhere. As his lips traced the line of his jaw or the muscle in his neck, his hands went under his shirt, swooping big, dry palms over his frenzied skin. Rhett didn’t ask if it was okay, if it was too much, if he was allowed, he just did it anyway, as if he couldn’t help himself, and realizing this had Link’s knees giving out for real. He shuddered and slumped against the wall as Rhett’s hands climbed up his bare back to touch every inch of his shoulders. They came around again and brushed over Link’s nipples, which, until this very moment, Link hadn’t realized had been so goddamn sensitive.

Link’s own hands happened to fancy Rhett’s bum, though that wasn’t surprising, and as Rhett touched him all he pleased, Link let himself do the same. He groped Rhett as if Rhett was a cheerleader and Link was his horny football player, making out behind the bleachers after the game, buzzing and thrilled with sexual energy they hadn’t yet gotten control of.

Actually, speaking of that, as Rhett pulled on Link’s bare hips under his shirt, tugging him into his body, Link could feel what Rhett wanted, what he wanted, too, through his jeans, and it was nearly too much. He turned his face away and tried, in the haze of everything - disbelief, lust, magic - to tell Rhett one thing he was sure he didn’t know.

“Rhett…” he gasped, Rhett scraping his teeth along the skin of his neck, breathing heavy, “you were the only… the only one I’ve ever… _wanted_ … like this…”

With that, Rhett slowed his hands and pulled back. Link sneaked a peek at him, and _God_ , it was heavenly. His face was flushed and his hair was sticking up all over the place (did Link do that?) and his eyes went wide as if realizing something important, his hands so gentle and calm on Link’s waist, feeling so fucking fantastic right there, right where they were meant to be. Link loved him so much in that moment, with Rhett looking at him like that, he didn’t know what he’d do if Rhett didn’t kiss him again.

* * *

As is the natural backwards order of things, Rhett didn’t kiss him again. He just stared at him, blinking, thumbs tracing light circles in Link’s skin as he looked down at him. Link was a mess, totally kissed raw, and it was beautiful. His pouty pink lips were all swollen and shiny, shirt collar tugged open and loose, shirt itself falling over Rhett’s hands as they lay hidden, cupping his bare skin. There were marks on his neck and an incredible red tint to his neck, cheeks, and ears, and as much as Rhett wanted him, all of him, he stilled himself just for a moment to think.

Link had never wanted anyone but him. This was a lot to take in, even for someone who was in the midst of thoroughly making out, tongue and all, hands still intimate in their placement on his best friend’s waist. As Link blinked at him, waiting, a whisk of memories flashed in swatches of color and conversation before Rhett’s eyes, all making sense, falling into place with this new bit of information.

In college, he remembered Link not really wanting to take any girls out. He always said it was to stay true to their religion, or something, but it was still strange to Rhett that Link never had anything to say during their extensive discussions about sex. He’d masturbate, Rhett knew that, as he could feel and hear and smell him every time, even from the shower (which didn’t help his own budding sexuality, thank you very much), but Link never really seemed interested in “going all the way.” With anyone. Not even to try it. Once, Rhett thought he might not have been attracted to girls at all, that maybe he was gay, which was both thrilling and terrifying, as he hadn’t yet figured out where he himself stood with it, and when he asked Link, he blushed and laughed his nervous laugh and shoved Rhett away. He told him of course he wasn’t gay, obviously, and that was that, but things didn’t really change in the following years. Rhett had brought girls home when his hand wasn’t enough, not getting very far with them, but it helped all the same, until his first time in senior year of college with a girl named Caroline. It was okay, it felt good, obviously, but Rhett couldn’t shake the image of Link the whole time, which, of course, made it hard to ever call Caroline back once both of them were good and soiled.

He thought now, in this suspended moment, true reality paused as he lost himself in thought, of the first time he told Link he’d had sex. Link was happy for him, in a way any brother or best friend should be, but something lingered. Something… confused? Misunderstood? Almost as if Link didn’t really understand the importance of sex.

One time, actually, when they were stoned and sitting in the bed of Rhett’s truck right before finals, eyes on the stars, Link tried to start a conversation with him about it. He asked why people thought sex was so important, why everyone wanted it so much. Being young and stupid, Rhett asked if he was okay, if he was broken or something, if he needed to watch some porn to familiarize himself with women’s bodies again.

Back in the present, he cringed at himself. He hadn’t understood what Link was telling him, though he knew now. There was nothing wrong with him then and nothing wrong with him now, and there wouldn’t be anything wrong with him, even if he hadn’t confessed to wanting Rhett in this way, if he lived out his life never wanting sex at all. It’d be hard, especially considering how much Rhett wanted it with him, but not impossible. He would love him all the same.

Rhett brought himself back to this moment, here, with Link clearly aroused and squirming in his hands, and he wanted to devour him right away, take what was offered, but he was still half stuck in memory, particularly lodged on the thought of Link’s first time, which had actually happened, believe it or not.

After one of their earliest shows, Link had disappeared for an entire night, and when he came back the next morning, in the same clothes, he smiled big and told Rhett that “it” had “finally happened.” Rhett slapped him on the back and told him congratulations, asked who the lucky dame was, and suppressed a massive jab of jealousy (envy?) down low in his stomach. Link had stretched back in an armchair and said that it was good, just some groupie named Michelle or Michaela or something, and crossed his legs coolly. Rhett remembered hating whoever it was that slept with Link, not really bothering to tell himself it was just because he thought they wouldn’t have done him right.

Since then, Rhett couldn’t recall Link ever mentioning another encounter to him again. He didn’t mind, as he never really asked after that (those things seem less important when a) not in college and b) on the rise to stardom), and he didn’t really want to know, either. He was fine in blissful ignorance, not knowing exactly who Link was with, if anyone. Of course, for himself, he saw a few more groupies and girls here and there, only really fucking one or two of them, the rest he just fingered in his hotel bathroom in the middle of the night after shows during which Link looked particularly dreamy, blessing Rhett’s sinful life when they sank to their knees to relieve him, Link in his head the whole time. It wasn’t a classy way to deal with it, mind you, but it worked. Well, that is, until Rhett sought out his first male encounter, which didn’t go very well and thankfully, didn’t go very far, but made him sure as hell that he wasn’t straight in the slightest and definitely, _definitely_ thirsty for his best friend.

Anyway, that’s far too much background already - let’s get back on track, shall we?

Now, finally, after coming back to the conclusion that here, in this moment, he was with Link, and Link wanted him in the same way, Rhett let the perfection play out. He leaned in and kissed Link’s neck, tender, muttering into his skin, “I want you too,” simple, clear, making it easy for Link if he couldn’t tell already. “Always have.”

Link moaned, really moaned, and canted his hips up to meet Rhett’s groin. He pressed in, both pairs of hips pressed flat together, and grumbled lusty nonsense at the stiffness he felt there. He wanted so much, everything, whatever Link wanted, but he knew he couldn’t take it without asking. His momma raised him right, after all.

“We don’t have to…” he started, already finding his way back to Link’s mouth.

“Shut up,” Link mumbled, vibrations on Rhett’s lips, “and show me, please, just show me.”

Rhett hummed happily in response, suckling on Link’s tongue as his hands squeezed his waist. Part of him felt that they were going rather fast, considering their conversation was fractured and vague at best, but the other part of him wanted nothing more than to throw Link on the bed and strip him of all his clothes. He thought that still might be too much, though, even for him, so he settled for somewhere in the middle.

Guiding Link back with his lips, breaching and meeting in soft little pecks, he walked backwards and lead Link towards his bed, thankfully near, just off to the side. He bumped himself up against it and sat, pulling Link into his lap, yanking his collar down to mouth at his clavicle. This time, one hand found Link’s rump and squeezed, eliciting a happy, impatient groan that Rhett could feel in his cheek from where it met Link’s neck.

He didn’t want to talk, really, he wanted to let his hands and tongue do that for him, but he knew to check in at least once. “Are you sure…?” he whispered, lips so fuzzy and heavy on Link’s skin, wanting to skip this part and get right into it but knowing consent was absolutely mandatory.

“Yes, whatever you want,” Link said, carding his fingers through Rhett’s hair, responding to every touch and kiss as easily as though they were writing a song together, editing with blue ballpoint pens. “Please.”

That was what Rhett needed, just that, just one verbal confirmation, and he was ready. He pushed Link off his lap, lips feeling empty with the absence of Link’s chest, and held his hips in place just a foot away from his face. He squeezed the muscle and bone there, so slim, so perfect, as he looked up. Standing before him, Link was still a mess, blushing even more than he was before, looking down at Rhett as he brushed fingers through his hair and rounded down to grip his chin. Rhett nestled his face into Link’s palm, closing his eyes as he cupped his cheek, a tender moment, so innocent, before Rhett moved to unbuckle his belt and Link gripped him by the shoulder, holding on to anything steady as everything happened in hasty succession.

First, Rhett released Link of his belt - studded black, the classic - then unclasped his button, tugged at his zipper, and pulled the halves of his jeans open wide to slip them low on Link’s perfect hips. He wasted no time in sliding down Link’s boxers as well, and he would have commented on the print of little yellow rubber duckies if he wasn’t then completely and totally ruined with the sight of Link’s cock.

Now, they’d seen each other’s cocks before, let’s be real here. They grew up together, went through puberty, swam in rivers, changed together, and in college, Link even used to walk around naked. But never, never in all Rhett’s years had he ever seen something as gorgeous as Link’s cock in front of him now, as gay as that was.

Link’s stomach was flat and smooth and tan, dark hair creeping down from his navel and spreading into a groomed thatch at his pelvis. His cock was thick and long (though Rhett won for overall breadth, mind you), pale and solid as it jut out from between his hips. The tip was damp and flushed, and before he knew it, Rhett was reaching up and wrapping his hand around it, stomach coiling hot, cock twitching in his jeans at the silky feel of skin rolling over the stiffness against his palm. He tugged at it a few times, loose skin sliding easily, completely transfixed by the movement, until Link’s breathless whines from above signaled him to get a move on.

Wasting no time in this either, Rhett leaned forward and put his mouth around the head, licking, testing, already in love with the taste on his tongue.

Well, you can pretty much guess what happened after that. Link threw his head back, tightening his fingers in Rhett’s hair as Rhett sucked him down, lapping at the length and sucking his cheeks in, making a wet, tight, hollow place for Link’s cock, right against his tongue. Link thrust his hips, needy, but Rhett held him steady with two big hands, eyes closed, brows furrowed as he concentrated and, frankly, lost himself in the act.

Rhett didn’t think he was particularly great at it or anything, he’d only done it once, quickly, badly, with the aforementioned mystery guy. Now, though, he could really revel in it, do what he wanted, taste and lavish and please Link as he always had in his dreams. And oh, his dreams! Incredible, always, but no better than this. This was the real thing, this was the good stuff.

Of course, as this was the real life, Link could only handle so much pleasure, and after a good while of Rhett loving on him, sucking away happily, he began to tremble, breathing heavy. Rhett looked up at him with sultry eyes, Link’s fingers in his hair, nails digging half-moon rivets into his scalp, and pulled off just as Link husked a wheezy, overwhelming breath. Rhett didn’t notice the saliva strung between the head of Link’s cock and his bottom lip, or the way it’d swelled and deepened in color as Link struggled to hold out. No, Rhett only saw Link, looking down at him with glazed eyes and pink cheeks, angles of his face so handsome, light stubble and dark hair casting him as a classic beauty, so goddamn sexy as as he bit his lip, Rhett at his pelvis tugging his cock with his hand, slowly coming to a stop and letting a tense, unspoken moment go between them as they both waited.

It was surreal, looking up at Link like this, mouth sticky and tingling, feel and taste of him lingering as Rhett breathed quietly. Link stroked a hand through his hair, delicate, before gently pushing at Rhett’s shoulders, guiding him backwards onto the bed. Rhett followed the lead, laying back as Link climbed on top of him. Like a dance, they moved in sync, Link’s legs slotting between Rhett’s as Rhett’s hands found his back, sweeping down the solid length of it, resting on his hip. Link kissed him again, determined, and broke off just long enough for Rhett to admire the state of him again.

He was undone, completely, cock resting against his low-riding jeans, free and glistening from Rhett’s wet mouth. His t-shirt hung loose on his body, stretched from where Rhett had pulled at it, and, like an elegant, erotic performance, Link rose up like the tide and yanked it over his head in one swift movement. In the dim light of Rhett’s bedroom, as the sun had truly set now and painted the bedroom in shades of dark, dust drifting down around them, catching the faintest touch of the last afternoon light, Link looked the part of a young god. Thin but chiseled, with a trim little waist and massive shoulders, his skin gleamed a deep gold as he threw his shirt aside, collarbones and valleys of his muscles scooping up the shadows when he leaned forward.

Rhett sat up to meet his skin, hands reaching out to feel, but Link was stopping him with a palm on his chest, suddenly stripping him of his own shirt, everything a whoosh of black then gone again, Link coming back to him, closing the space between their bodies as he lay himself down. Bare skin met now, warm and solid, and Rhett had never felt so good. He tipped his head back and pushed his chest up as Link pushed down, both of them letting out a long, husky breath as their bodies aligned. Rhett’s hands danced down the newly revealed skin, clawing to pull Link closer, hoping to be swallowed whole by the feel of him.

Again, they kissed and kissed, hands all over, never getting enough. Rhett mouthed along Link’s clavicle and shoulder, rubbing his lips and beard on the skin with little finesse. Link playfully pinned Rhett’s wrists to the mattress above his head, but only for a moment before Rhett pried free and took him by the hips again, tugging his body down into him. Rhett went in for Link’s neck - that long, irresistible expanse of hot skin - but was stopped by the clumsy jingling of Link unbuckling his pants. Link breathed heavy for a moment, impatient and anxious, until Rhett calmed him with a kiss to his cheek. He then lay back and let Link unwrap him like a present, unzip his jeans and reach down for his cock, finally, _finally_ touching Rhett right where he needed to be touched, shameless as he dug his hand below the waistband of Rhett’s underwear and pulled him out and into the open. They matched.

Link hunched over him, breathing hot against Rhett’s jaw, as he closed his hand around his cock and began to tug him slowly. Rhett had nearly forgotten what it felt like to have someone touch him this way, and now that it was Link, the only person who mattered, the only person who should ever touch him this way, Rhett never wanted it to end. Link was timid in his touch at first, but as Rhett began to squirm and breathe, husking out moans he couldn’t stop, Link grew bold. He rolled his cupped hand over Rhett’s cock, damp head peeking from the space between his thumb and index finger, just a sticky drop or two squeezed onto the soft skin of Link’s hand. Swiveling his wrist, as men were known to do to themselves, Link played Rhett right. He drew every last pleasure from him, down his chest, skittering over his stomach, and out his cock, hot and thick and prickling with heat. It was the best thing Rhett had ever known.

However, like Link, Rhett couldn’t hold out forever, not when it felt like this. He breathed out a few shaky breaths, muscles clenched, skin hot and fevered, as Link’s hand began to slow. They seemed to both understand that as badly as they wanted to come, they knew that once they did, this moment would be over. They couldn’t let the heat and chemistry guide them, keep them safe and quiet in the pleasure forever, they’d have to talk about it once again. And frankly, neither of them seemed to want to.

As Link kissed him again, hand now pressing down on Rhett’s hip, letting him recover, Rhett wanted to tell him, claw it into his back, sink it into his head, _Let’s not say anything anymore._ He wanted Link to know how he felt, as he did when writing _Wild Lights_ , but he realized now, with the weight of everything (including Link’s body), that he was still unable to really tell him truly, say the words for real, that he couldn’t convey twenty years of friendship in one song, even if he tried. He wanted to let touch and kiss speak for them, he wanted to say, _Can’t it just be like this? Let’s just let it be like this. This is good, this is easy._

Link didn’t hear him, of course, only kissed him over and over again.

* * *

Now that the initial rush of heat and pleasure had passed, though still present, Link could finally think. He’d had Rhett here with him, like this, long enough now that he wondered what it’d be like when the moment ended. Their bodies worked together perfectly, as Link suspected they would every night he’d touched himself thinking about romps like this. Power and pleasure matched, and when they touched, it was easy. This is what they let guide the conversation, not the stumbling words and,  _I almost told you_ . This was what they needed to say, how they needed to say it, but as great as it was, it wasn’t enough, and Link knew it.

They’d tried to talk about it before, and he knew they’d need to again, but after so many years of friendship, of not saying anything, there was little they could do besides let a kiss or two talk for them. If he could pry his mouth off Rhett’s shoulders long enough, Link wanted to tell Rhett everything, that this was the greatest moment of his life, that he was sorry he’d never said anything, that he was so, _so_ goddamn in love with him, but that was too much to say, and Link didn’t have enough strength. Even with Rhett whisking hot breath into his skin, after sucking his cock and writhing beneath his body, everything was still so new, and Link was still afraid.

He didn’t know what to do besides keep touching him, touch and touch and kiss and kiss, make it last, keep each other silent. His mind was a pleasant, empty hum the moment Rhett had kissed him, but now he was thinking again, his anxious thoughts returning, and Link let them worm into his skull as he moved slow with Rhett’s body, rolling against him, stomach and chest and loose, unbuckled jeans. It was all he could do.

How do you summarize a life like theirs? A brotherhood? How can you look each other in the eye and simply say, _Everything’s different now, isn’t it? We can’t ever go back, can we?_ How do you realize that all the times you’d said in unison, _We’re not a couple, We’re just friends, The fans are overthinking it,_ were lies? How do you tell the person you grew up with, went to church with, that you worshipped them, that they were your religion? What can you say when it’s a spiritual, intense connection like theirs? What does it mean when your bodies sing and work off each other like two perfect energies, but you can’t get your words to come when conversation strikes?

Link didn’t know how to answer these questions, this barrage of worry, so he just fell back into Rhett - Rhett’s scent, Rhett’s touch, Rhett’s body.

He shifted on top of him, lips at the shell of his ear, and reached between their stomachs. He took his own cock in his hand and searched for Rhett’s, pressing them together because that’s what he wanted to do and there was nothing that could stop him. Rhett’s hips rose on command, Link closing his big palm around them both, fingers curling, rolling them together. He held Rhett in place by the hip with one hand as the other kept their cocks pressed, hot and solid, rubbing together for any kind of friction, anything that would get them there, _there_ \- that point of no return, where they’d come down and everything would begin.

Link looked down at Rhett now, both of them too deep in pleasure to focus on kissing, and everything inside him went hot with the sight. Rhett’s hair was messy, no longer gelled and styled, falling against his damp brow. With eyebrows knit and crinkled in pleasure, lips open and huffing a steamy breath, Rhett rocked beneath him on the bed, incredible that such a huge man was so soft and pliant as he lost himself in pleasure. His cheeks and nose and ears were all a lovely shade of pink, his neck and chest too, and after admiring him for a moment in the dusk, Link couldn’t stop himself from leaning down to bite a big red mark into his neck, claiming him and reminding him, should the morning come, that this really did happen.

Rhett let out a small cry as Link’s teeth imprinted beautifully against his skin. Link then buried his face in the crook of Rhett’s neck and held on for dear life as he ground his hips deeper, faster, hand so clumsily keeping them locked together. Rhett pulled him in and held him tight, riding out the storm, as they rocked the bed as one, rolling spines and bare chests and loose, open jeans, for just a few moments longer. The pressure built between them, hot and damp, until it was finally too much, too much to have him here, like this, too long without release. Link’s orgasm began to crest over him, faintly aware he was grunting and drooling into Rhett’s neck, rocking hard into his body as the pleasure peaked. It lasted a beautiful moment, building and building, until he was coming between their bodies and could feel Rhett come too, trembling and gripping him, moaning into his skin.

Link continued to grind as he came down, fireworks fading, cocks and stomachs slick and sticky, skin red and hot to the touch. His hips gave little aftershock thrusts as he slowed the rhythm, Rhett’s muscles loosening, his body releasing every last tension.

Finally they came to a stop and just lay together, still, for a moment. Once again, Link’s mind was clear. He wasn’t thinking about what this meant, what had changed, or what they’d do. He sated and warm and sleepy, and as he blindly moved his face towards Rhett’s to give him one last smothering kiss, he rolled off him and onto his back, drifting off into post-orgasmic bliss, falling asleep almost immediately.

In his last few moments of consciousness, he told himself that it was okay, that he was okay for being so spent, that this was more than a decade of unresolved sexual tension finally coming to a close, that they’d gone from bitter, dramatic silence in the midst of a fight to realizing, finally confessing, in one way or another, and closing with a kiss and whatever else followed after. He promised himself and Rhett, silently, that this was okay, that they were okay, and right before the dark navy haze of sleep claimed him, he felt Rhett shift beside him and pull him in, wrapping around him with long legs and arms, tucking his face into his shoulder. Rhett gave him a small, sleepy kiss on whatever skin he could reach, and then Link was gone, drifting away, blessing his life and the man beside him, as the quiet took him, soft and pleasant.

As he slept, Link did not dream about Rhett, about their lives all blended together with fame and brotherhood and sex, shadowed scenes of lovemaking woven in between childhood memories, because for once in his life, he didn’t need to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my loves! I'm so sorry about the long wait for this chapter (more than a month!), but I was busy moving into my new apartment and starting school! I'm all settled in now, and even though I'm majoring in creative writing and my two prerequisite classes are murdering my ass every week with writing assignments, I knew I couldn't keep y'all waiting. Hope you like this chapter, it's kind of a lot lmao sorry...
> 
> Only one chapter left! :)
> 
> P.S. My birthday is on Wednesday, September 21st, in case anyone wants to pop by and say hello on [tumblr](http://lovelyrhink.tumblr.com) ❤︎


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They were rockstars, divine kings of pining hearts and blue neighborhoods.

_We’ve no time for getting old - mortal bodies, timeless souls - cross your fingers, here we go._

Link awoke. The bedroom, not his, was quiet, save for the distant early morning cars and the California breeze rustling the pages of the open book on the desk. It was warm and smelled like Rhett. Link was shirtless, and upon shifting against the bed, found that his jeans were low on his hips and his cock was out, soft and rubbing against the comforter. With a small groan, he remembered the night before and realized, quite dumbly, that Rhett was sleeping atop the covers beside him, handsome and clueless. Link peeked, holding his breath, thinking he might still be dreaming.

He wasn’t, of course. Rhett really was there, shirtless, jeans also unbuckled and low, revealing creamy pale hips and the bunched up fat of his bum that Link knew rarely saw sunlight, as the rest of Rhett’s skin, his back and arms and chest, was tan. He was on his stomach, face pressed deep in his pillow, arms tucked under his head and beautifully brown against the golden sunlight. His back was broad and bare, a lean shadow just in the dip of his spine, muscles in his shoulders tight under freckled skin. Link watched him sleep, just for a moment, before sitting up on the edge of the bed. His weight sagged the mattress as he leaned back to tuck himself in and button up. Once he shifted his jeans back into place, he sat still, eyes on the various posters and trinkets around Rhett’s room, the man himself breathing lightly behind him.

A very large part of Link wanted to stand up and leave, take a shower and try and work this all out when Rhett was awake, but another part of him wanted to lay back down and press into Rhett’s warm, bare chest and do it all over again. He was tired of running, honestly, and while he didn’t know if he was ready to talk about what happened between them the night before (thinking about it made his cock twitch and he bit his lip, willing his blood to cool), he knew was going to have to be if they were to get anywhere.

He waited a minute longer, sitting stiff, hands on his knees, just staring, thinking. He counted everything on the walls once then once more, this time only the pieces Rhett had gotten with Link in his presence. Link was there for all but four of them.

The room itself was homey and comfortably unorganized. The closet was open, myriad of flannels and button ups peeking shades of red, and paper strewn about the desk, a sign that Rhett had been songwriting.

Rhett then moved behind him and suddenly there were two strong arms at his waist, tugging him back down, a long body curling around him.

“Don’t go,” Rhett whispered.

“I won’t.”

“Stay.”

“Okay.”

Rhett kissed Link’s neck and tightened his arms around him. Link felt so good in those arms, receiving that kiss, that he closed his eyes and let out a small moan of content. Rhett then kissed him again, flicking his tongue out over his skin. Link blushed deeply as he remembered that same tongue swirling wet around his cock and how lost he was to the feeling with nothing to say. Now, he knew he had to say something.

“Wait, Rhett,” he said.

Rhett stopped.

Link sat up.

Rhett followed, shuffling for a moment to close his fly, last true evidence of the previous night’s sin.

Link swiveled, pulled his legs up, and then they were sitting, face to face, aware, and there was no going back.

It was quiet as Link took Rhett in. He was so beautiful right here, with his eyes all droopy and crinkly from sleep, imprints from the pillow’s seams along his pink cheeks, bare chest broad and handsome, freckled shoulders warm from the sun. Link held his gaze steady, silent, pleading that he wouldn’t leave him alone in this. They were going to do it together. Rhett stared back, promising.

Link sighed and looked down, now staring at Rhett’s chest. He reached out a hand and gently brushed his fingertips against the inked skin on Rhett’s left pectoral. “I forgot you had this.”

Rhett kept his soft eyes on Link as he said, “You have one too.”

Link had almost forgotten. In college, when they’d just started the band, he and Rhett got matching tattoos. They had various black ink quotes or small little symbols scattered across their bodies that they’d accumulated over the years, but the ones on their chests were theirs, they’d gotten them together. Rhett had roses and gems and coiling vines around a banner that simply said “Music is life,” while Link had a big skull surrounded with geometric shapes and black stars, same motto stretched across the skull’s cracked forehead. They’d saved up the money and planned a date, and as they stood waiting in the parlor, admiring all the punk rock artwork around the walls and displayed on the artists themselves, the girl with a million piercings printing out their papers had asked if they were a couple. They’d said no then, laughing awkwardly, but now, if she, or anyone else, asked again, Link might have said yes.

“I remember,” he said, fingers still tracing the red rose, Rhett’s skin the softest there than anywhere else.

Rhett stilled his hand and closed his palm against his chest. “Me too.”

Link looked up. “Rhett, we should talk about this.”

“I know.”

“But I don’t know what to say.”

“I know.”

“What can I say?”

“Say what you feel.”

Link swept his hand up Rhett’s chest and around his neck, tugging him in to meet his lips, a full kiss on the mouth, lingering just for a moment before pulling back. “That’s what I feel.”

Rhett’s eyes had closed, lips parted, so soft and plush and pink that Link wanted to kiss them again, now that he had the chance to. He wanted to kiss and kiss and never stop kissing. But he resisted, letting his thumb trail along Rhett’s bottom lip instead.

Lids heavy as they opened slowly, Rhett hummed, “Oh, _brother_.”

Suddenly, Link bristled and took his hands off Rhett as if they’d burned. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?”

“Things have changed.”

“Nothing’s changed.”

“Everything’s changed, Rhett. We can’t pretend it hasn’t.”

“I’m not pretending.”

Link was silent.

“Just tell me what you want,” Rhett said.

“I want it all to be okay.”

Rhett cupped his cheek, thumb sweeping under his left eye. “It will be.”

Link relaxed into the touch, the same touch he’d known all his life, platonically, friendly. Now there was intent there that both thrilled and terrified him. “I just want you,” he said. “You’re all I want.”

“You can have me.” Rhett said it with such honesty, looking so sternly into Link’s eyes, that he had to believe him.

Still, part of him fought. “What about everything? Mike and the band and the fans?”

“What about them?”

“Everything. Nothing. I don’t know.”

Rhett pulled Link into his arms. Link tucked his face against the crook of his neck. Safe.

“It doesn’t matter,” Rhett whispered. “It’s just you and me. Nothing else matters.”

Link let himself believe it. He relaxed into Rhett’s arms and didn’t think about Mike or the public or being bad at relationships or messing it up or getting it wrong or ruining twenty years of friendship, he didn’t think about what he’d have to tell his parents or their friends or that all those people who saw them onstage were right and he’d lied to them. He didn’t dwell on the fight or the song or read between the lines of what they said or didn’t say. He just let Rhett hold him for a moment, tell him it would be fine, kiss his shoulder and his neck. It was just them. Two best friends in a bedroom about to embark on something they never thought they’d have, either because they avoided it out of fear or uncertainty. Rhett promised Link that he wouldn’t have to do it alone, that they’d always be together, and Link wanted nothing more than to tell him how much he loved him, how in love with him he was. He had to. Right now, before anything even started, he had to tell him for real.

So he untangled himself from Rhett’s arms and stood from the bed. He picked up his t-shirt which had been flung into the darkness during their romp and slipped it over his head. He left the bedroom, Rhett sitting there, curious, and went out into the living room. When Rhett had come to him, before the song, before the kiss, before everything, he had found Link finishing his song. He had changed it so many times since the first draft that it was almost a completely different song now, and it still didn’t feel perfectly finalized, but it was all he had to give. He retrieved it from the coffee table and brought it back to Rhett. He said nothing as he gave it to him.

* * *

Rhett took the loose notebook paper and admired it. Link’s handwriting, in different blue and black ink, marched along every faint line, some words crossed out here and there, streaks of grey ash from necessary songwriting bowls, smudges and misspellings, an entire section scribbled out, an arrow pointing to the backside of the page. A few stray doodles lined the margins, as well as a ring of brown from a mug of coffee. Songs in this state were always so raw, so personal. Lyrics handwritten by calloused rock god hands, no middleman producers worming between artist and creation, dousing the music with blandness that “sells” until they were mediocre cult chants laid over the same damn beat. The Wax Paper Dogz prided themselves on original handwritten music, and Link was no exception. And while Rhett knew songwriting, knew that written words were never as good as sound, that melody and rhythm and elongated vowels smoothed everything over, and that Link’s song would probably be rough, just as his song was, he didn’t care. It was messy and unclear and scribbled, but it was art, and Rhett wouldn’t have it any other way. This was Link’s song, his offering, his confession. This was Link’s heart, so delicate and messy in his hands, and Rhett treasured it.

He didn’t wait for Link to tell him to read it.

First, the title.

“ _Golden,_ ” Rhett said.

Beside him, Link mumbled, “I’m still working on it.”

Rhett ignored him and braced himself for lyrics.

There were so many things that had gone unsaid between them, so many things not yet written, and now they were somewhere in the zone where they were willing to try. It took a lot of courage on both their parts to present songs this way, so raw and unpolished, but it was what they had to do. They were rockstars, divine kings of pining hearts and blue neighborhoods, and if they weren’t the type to offer each other notebook paper love songs before saying it for real, who was?

Link’s song opened with something abstract and vague, a mismatch of words that sounded somewhat surreal, but a commentary on love all the same. As it went on, he began to weave what Rhett could only assume was their story, as he had in his. His heart began to race and he clutched the paper tighter as the memories came through, painted in brushstrokes of punk, filtered through a golden lens. Link mentioned shared memories that they’d never told anyone, truth tucked away between them like old lovers. He spun a tale of amber thread that chased ‘round the fields of North Carolina, and Rhett followed it back. He and Link were running through tall grass and collapsing down beneath the white cloud sky, breathless and grubby. And then in the next verse, they were here, in California, up onstage, moaning out ballads to young souls who wore too much black. It was everything they were - history and memory - and by the time Rhett made it to the chorus, he was nearly tearing up.

He felt a hand on his thigh just as he began to recognize himself, immortalized, twisted up in Link’s way. This song was Rhett through Link’s eyes, and he was, indeed, golden. He was shadowed sunset dreams and streaks of electric teenage youth, he was just as handsome as he was brilliant, a power to be awed. He was the thrill of the afterlife, the party, the long night drives through a darkened city, windows down, in the back of yellow checkered cars. He glowed like embers in vast deserts under silver scattered skies, he was red passion unknown but desperately sought. He was gentle but fierce, modest in his rich talent, and the kindest heart Link said he’d ever known. There were parts Rhett couldn’t quite unravel either, like the meaning of a blue moon over lavender dewdrop mornings, but the sentiment was all there, and the mystery was quite endearing. Link continued on through his song, rhyming and crafting in a way Rhett hadn’t yet seen from him, and by the time he navigated the scribbled draft, he had a pretty good idea of what Link was trying to say.

Link was saying that Rhett was his heart. Rhett was there beside him through every moment of his life, every memory. Rhett was his lifeblood, his soul, and his passion. Rhett was made from all things good: honesty and loyalty and creativity and drive and kindness and compassion. Rhett was the best thing to ever happen to him, the source of his stability and comfort, and his partner in crime through every misadventure. Rhett was, in Link’s words, a golden love unparalleled. Link loved him, quite plainly, and had no reservations in spelling it out this way. And while any other confession might have smothered and overwhelmed, for Rhett, who felt the same about Link, it was everything.

By the time he read it through again, he was blinking blurry tears out of his eyes. Link shifted beside him, hand going from his thigh to the small of his back.

“Hey,” Link whispered.

And that’s when Rhett saw it. He looked, and in those blue eyes, anxious, waiting for confirmation, Rhett saw only love. The same look Link had given him all his life, it was honest and pure, and after decades of bated breath, Rhett finally understood. Link loved him with every ounce of his heart, loved him just as Rhett did, in the same way, and always had. It was matched, he and Link, they were both head over heels smitten with each other on every level. They loved each other.

Rhett didn’t know where to start. “Link…”

“I know,” he laughed softly, “it’s a lot. Sorry.”

With hands tied to pages inked to bring him back, Rhett reached for Link, tipping his chin up to see his face. He looked over every shape and curve, the stubble on his jaw, the pouty pink of his lips, the dark lace of lashes around startlingly blue cornflower eyes, and then he kissed him. The intention of this kiss was not lust or impatience, it was proof. Rhett had told Link, Link had told Rhett, and now they both knew. After so long, it could finally begin.

Link smiled against Rhett’s mouth, a beautiful feeling, before kissing back. He offered his lips and Rhett took them, only for a moment, wet, then moved to the shell of his ear. “Am I more than you bargained for yet?” Rhett husked.

“I’ve been dying to tell you everything.”

Rhett let the papers fall as he closed in, hands at Link’s waist. He pushed him back down onto the bed and fitted himself atop him, eager to become the friction in his jeans, a notch in his bedpost. “You just did,” Rhett teased. “Though now I’m just a line in a song.”

Link bent to Rhett’s touch, raising his hips and gasping as he said, “You’re more than that.”

Lips on neck again. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. You’re everything.”

They stopped talking as much after that. Rhett kissed Link over and over again, hands moving from his ribs to his waist to his hips and up again, Link canting up to meet his groin, buzzing with energy and begging to be swallowed whole. Rhett was smart in keeping his shirt off, as Link seemed to have an affinity for his nipples, and he touched him eagerly, pinching, exploring, taking what he finally could. Rhett wasted no time in stripping Link of his shirt and tossing it away again, immediately laying himself against his beautifully bare chest.

They’d only just woken up, hadn’t eaten or showered, and had done the same thing the night before in the same clothes in the same bed, but they didn’t care. This was different. This was the true beginning. This was confirmed, this was slow. They could take their time and unravel each other bit by bit until all that was left was the pleasant afterglow of an orgasm and more material for songs. And that seemed to be the plan, even as they were still new to this, both of them. They wanted each other, and that’s all that mattered. They’d waited long enough, and now was a perfect, uninterrupted moment, so they decided to try.

Once they’d kissed each other into oblivion, all lips and tongues, grunting into each other’s mouths, they moved to breathe heavy against shoulders and necks. Rhett swiveled his hips and rocked the bed, Link pressed beneath him, fingernails raking down the concave in his back. Link spread his thighs further and ground up against Rhett’s stomach, unmistakably hard and seeking touch. Rhett gave it to him, slipping his hand between Link’s thighs and rubbing him through his jeans. Like the night before, Link rose at his touch, swelling against the curve of Rhett’s palm, straining at the seams. And Rhett, matching in desperation, shifted his massive body and aligned his groin with Link’s bony hip. Regaining their familiar push and pull, they ground together until there was little room left in their jeans. Link fumbled for hold at Rhett’s back, waist, anything, while Rhett began to outline the shape of his cock with his fingers. Matching in power, they surged in and out of pleasure, gripping each other tight as their bodies rocked. The act came so naturally to both of them that it was incredible to think that this was only their second time.

Incredible, yes, but believable all the same, as they soon began to tremble, overwhelmed. Link squeezed his thighs around Rhett’s hips just as Rhett groped him quite lewdly, earning him a semi-pained moan, which Rhett found so incredibly erotic that he could only groan in return, peppering his lips down the slender line of Link’s neck.

Rhett was sucking Link’s collarbone, other hand tangled in his dark hair, when Link gasped, “I want you.”

Groaning, Rhett ground his hips deep and grumbled, slightly hesitant, “Link…“

“Rhett, please.”

Of course, Rhett couldn’t resist a beautiful boy begging for his love, so he kissed him with his tongue and put his hands on his body. “Okay, what do you…?”

However, Link seemed to already know what he wanted, as he hooked his legs around Rhett’s and pressed up, hard, until they were rolling over. Now, comforter askew, Link’s song fluttering innocently towards the floor, Link sat atop Rhett, hands skating over his bare skin, looking down at him with only the lustiest intent. He leaned over, taking Rhett’s mouth again, raising his hips just enough for Rhett to reach around and grope his rear, big hands perfectly sized on each cheek. When he pulled back from the kiss, Rhett looked up and lost his breath.

Link was hovering above him, brightened now by the late morning sun. Though Link might have thought Rhett absolutely golden, looking up at him now, aura catching mahogany highlights in his dark hair and softening his strong shoulders, Rhett could call him the same. His hair was a mess, worse than the night before, and his lips were swollen and dry, red marks painting his neck and shoulders, deep blush in his cheeks, lusty glaze in his eyes. He wore a filthy grin. His strong arms reached down around Rhett’s head, balling the tangled comforter in his fists, hips rocking slightly, keeping the rhythm. And though he was made up of hard lines and muscles, looking terribly naughty as he licked his lips, Link’s voice was still soft and small and honest as he said, “I don’t know what to do,” and Rhett had never wanted him more.

Rhett spread his legs wider around Link’s body and shifted lower, seating the soft depression between his cheeks atop Link’s straining erection and wiggling his hips playfully. “Like this,” he whispered.

Link swallowed thickly and glanced down.

* * *

The sight of Rhett’s swollen groin was bad enough, but feeling the soft hollow just below it was even worse. He’d dreamed his fair share of scenes like this, and he was no stranger to porn, of course, but this was something else entirely. He knew what Rhett was offering meant he trusted him very much, and upon imagining the tight, wet heat of him, Link shuddered. Watching from below, Rhett flicked his tongue out over his bottom lip, expectant, and Link put his hands on his thighs.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“But what about-“

“Next time.”

Link was quiet, breath shallow.

“I need you right now,” Rhett continued. “Please, Link, I want to feel you.”

With that, the deepest part of Link’s newfound sexuality roared, carnal, and something beyond the both of them tugged his stomach tight, pulling him down towards Rhett and nudging his cock deep against his perineum through their jeans. Link could only obey it lest he implode, so with deep crimson in his cheeks, he enthusiastically agreed. “Okay, yeah, yeah.”

Rhett blinked, processing, then smiled. He stretched like a cat in the sun and reached his arms high over his head, puffing his chest out and displaying himself, all for Link’s taking. And he took it, God, he took it all.

Immediately, Link leaned down again, covering every inch of that glorious body with damp, full-lipped kisses. His hands found place at Rhett’s hips, squeezing, as his tongue traced lines and circles over his fevered skin. He closed his mouth over one nipple and sucked and licked until Rhett was clawing at his shoulders, fingers twisting in his hair. He shifted Rhett below him, bending his knee and holding him open, as he shuffled down. As he put his other hand on the solid curve of Rhett’s cock, he made sure to study his face. The beautiful crease between those strong brows, mouth going slack, creeping pink flush in his neck and ears and cheeks. Link carefully, slowly, unbuttoned his jeans, recording every twitch and shift in expression as he finally freed his cock and took it in his hand.

Link, with his tongue poking out, pink against his bottom lip, eyes on Rhett’s blushing face, then said, “You’re so hard, bo.”

Rhett could only cover his eyes and whimper in response.

Link smiled filthily and tugged it a few times, groaning at the feel of him, solid but silky and hot to the touch, squeezing to rise beautiful noises from Rhett’s parted lips. There was a fleeting moment in which Link remembered college, wanting so badly to try this with Rhett at least once, hot and curious and wild, between classes, in their dorm, in an abandoned barn, wherever, but quickly reminded himself that this was now, and it was happening for real. This was no fantasy.

Rhett gave little breathy moans as Link worked him with his hand beautifully. He rolled his curled fist up and down, tightening in a way he knew felt good, and flicked his gaze between Rhett’s cock, the long stretch of his body, and his pleasured expression. It only lasted a moment, Rhett squirming and rolling his hips, red in the face, before Link dipped to lick a wet stripe from the base to the head. Rhett gave a deep, guttural growl.

“My turn,” Link grumbled, words slurred through lips pressed against Rhett’s cock. He stroked it once more before licking at the head, swirling his tongue like he thought he ought to. As he worked his way down and back up again, kissing, licking, wetting, he thought about all the blowjobs he’d seen in his gay porn adventures and tried his best to be shameless. He took his time teasing Rhett with his tongue before actually swallowing him down, and once he did, he tried to be brave. He wanted to let himself enjoy this like he’d always dreamed, so he cast all preconceptions aside and sucked Rhett like both their lives depended on it. Sloppy, dirty, and wet, Link let himself be loud and crude and lewd, wet mouth making sinful noises as he sucked. Link kept his fingers a constant pressure at the base as he used his lips, tongue, and throat to drag Rhett into oblivion. He closed his eyes and let the sensations consume him - the damp, salty, slightly musky taste of Rhett on his tongue, the thickness, the smell, the deep fullness in his throat when he bravely tried to take him deeper - before pulling off to gasp and letting the sticky saliva pool on his tongue. He looked up at Rhett.

He’d almost forgotten in his experimenting that someone was on the other end, receiving, and Link blinked through lust-glazed eyes at Rhett, who was twitching, red in the chest, neck, face, and ears, sweat on his brow, and impatient, needy sounds trapped in his throat. Link felt his stomach flip in arousal and looked back down, flooding hot and thirsty. He took Rhett in his mouth again, noting now to keep his hands steady on Rhett’s hips as he pushed back, as well as to let Rhett’s voice guide him. When he sucked him down deep and tight and wet, Rhett pitched a deep groan, and when he teased the reddened tip with his tongue, Rhett whimpered lightly. Rhett canted his hips when Link peppered kisses along the length and spread his thighs further when Link licked slick stripes. Link took the moment to study and better his movements, tune himself to Rhett’s frequency, which, in truth, he’d been doing all their lives.

As their chemistries aligned, Link could feel that Rhett was growing restless and pulled off just as he began to moan his name.

“L-Link…”

Link said nothing as he rolled his tongue against his teeth, fuzzy with Rhett’s taste, and admired the body before him. Rhett was a mess, disheveled and delectable, and Link began to salivate again. He took the moment to sit up and tug Rhett’s jeans down his legs, casting them and his boxers down onto the bedroom floor. Link smoothed his warm palms down the muscles in Rhett’s body, over his hips and thighs, calming him, soothing, before he leaned forward, pressed a sticky-lipped kiss to his mouth and went down again.

Though Link was soft and tender in his kiss, he went in for the kill as he hoisted Rhett’s heavy thighs up and over, bending him in half. Rhett shifted beneath him, steadying his back, and Link nudged forward to support him with his thighs. He gave Rhett a dirty look through the dark, messy hair that’d fallen in his eyes, hands on his rump, then spread his cheeks and pressed his wet tongue against his rim.

Rhett melted.

Now, Link didn’t actually know what he was doing, but he knew he wanted it. That same part of him, deep and sexual, which had him salivating at the sight of Rhett was now ten times stronger, guiding him in licking, lapping, and rimming. He found it strange, actually, that he’d been so previously uninterested in anything sexual before realizing Rhett was the only exception, and yet here he was, with his tongue in his ass. Rhett didn’t seem to mind, of course. Neither of them did.

No, this is what they wanted. Link gave it all he got, wet and messy, rolling the flat of his tongue over the twitchy opening, then pointing it to dip inside. After a while, he forgot the techniques he so shamefully studied from late night dorm room porn and let his mouth do his bidding. He seemed to enjoy rocking his whole face between Rhett’s cheeks instead of just his tongue, and so did Rhett.

Above him, Rhett was squirming, red in the face and chest, puffing out little helpless breaths, moaning out bits of commands that Link couldn’t even obey as Rhett had raised his hips, thrown his legs over Link’s shoulders, and clamped his thick thighs around his head, blocking all sound but the lewd slurp of his mouth.

Link, who had previously planned on keeping Rhett pinned and bent in half, was now locked in place, squeezed, nose nudging the softness just underneath Rhett’s cock. He went in again and again, hands now struggling for hold at Rhett’s trunk, gripping his waist. Rhett rocked and squirmed a moment more before releasing Link and bringing his knees back to his chest, letting Link take him by the back of the thighs again, spreading him apart and gasping for air.

Link’s lips were sticky and fuzzy and wet, and his tongue and jaw were sore, but he needed more, and after giving his meal a hearty look, all red and twitchy and wide, he went back down. He licked for a moment more, Rhett finally snaking his fingers into his hair and pulling, Link grunting into him with each yank, before the lust inside him burned so fiercely that he had to stop. He gave a final lick, long and wet and slick, and pulled back. He slapped Rhett’s cheek twice, causing Rhett to jolt with pleasure. Link then wiped his mouth, the sweat off his brow, and the grease in his eyes, and pressed his embarrassingly large erection against Rhett’s wet rim.

He ground through his jeans, rough, and leaned over, arms at either side of Rhett’s head. He wasn’t sure if Rhett wanted a kiss or not, so he refrained, but Rhett tugged him down with a hand at the back of his neck and did it for him. Link rocked their bodies together as Rhett crossed his ankles around his back and put his tongue in his mouth.

Link couldn’t really remember what happened after that. He was consumed by something he was unfamiliar with, and all that made sense was the feel of Rhett under him, the taste of him, the sounds he made. Rhett was a drug, and Link was hooked.

He was nearly bursting his seams, each rub against Rhett like fire in his belly, and he couldn’t stop himself from grunting, or from working his fingers in Rhett’s hair and tugging to expose Rhett’s neck, biting red marks up along the smooth columns. It was a power matched by both parties, both dominant and needy, two kings in one bed, and while Rhett was pinned beneath Link’s weight, he was anything but helpless. He pushed back just as hard as Link, gave just as good as he got, and after a particularly deep swivel of Link’s hips, wrenched his face away and reached to slam his hand against the bedside dresser.

“Link,” he gasped. “Here.”

Link paused and glanced over. He was stupid in lust and took a moment before realizing. “Oh. Yeah, okay.”

Rhett was still as Link shuffled over him, stretching out and reaching to open the drawer. Rhett ran his hands up his bare body as he did, rolling his hips, keeping the pleasure between them. Link fumbled for a moment, scrabbling in the dark drawer past lighters and old pipes and random keychains before retrieving the bottle of lubricant and bringing it back to show Rhett. Rhett licked his lips.

Settling back into a seated position, Rhett’s legs still around him, Link regarded the situation. Rhett was so bare, so open, so needy, and as nervous as Link was, he wanted all of him. He took a moment to calm them both, touching Rhett softly with a hand in the center of his chest, a reminder that he was still there, through everything, still loving him even beyond this moment. They both needed it, and Link’s heart was warm and dumb as he raised his hand to his mouth and spit on his fingers. Rhett watched him with steely grey eyes that seemed nearly amber with their ferocity as Link put his fingers to Rhett’s rim and massaged the wetness in. Link grinned as Rhett couldn’t hold the stare and looked away, blushing.

Cock twitching in his jeans and stomach tightening, Link looked down at Rhett’s pelvis and uncapped the lube. He breathed slow and steady even though his heart was racing as he squeezed a generous amount onto his fingers and wasted no more time in putting them inside Rhett.

The change in atmosphere was instant - where Link had so previously set warmth and memory and comfort, the press of his fingers had made it hot and tense with electric, steamy sex. Both he and Rhett knew what they were doing, where it was headed, and where they wanted it to end up. They had no time for messing around.

Link pulsed his fingers and spread the slickness against Rhett’s insides before reaching outside to rub the tight ring of muscle. Rhett, this time, didn’t whimper and squirm, but went red and tense, muscles taut beneath fevered skin. He knit his brows and rolled his head back into his pillow as Link watched, ready to devour, and slipped his fingers deep. He began to pump them slowly, reaching to feel every wet, hot inch. Rocking his body against Rhett’s thigh to release some pressure, he worked Rhett open, adding more lube as he stretched and scissored his fingers, so much, even, that it pooled on the bed beneath Rhett’s tailbone.

Link rolled his wrist and plunged his fingers until Rhett was back to whimpers and gasps, balling the bedding in his fists, grinding his hips down to meet Link’s hand. Link wanted to keep him there, suspended in pleasure, laid out before him and melting from his touch, but he also wanted to be part of the fun, lay himself down on Rhett and fall into him. So he took a few more moments to tease Rhett, two fingers curling up, preparing, before he leaned over, pressed a kiss to Rhett’s open, gasping mouth, and removed his fingers slow.

Rhett held him there with his arms around his neck, kissing Link’s right cheek, lips, left cheek, and neck, whispering heated words of gratitude and pleasure into his skin, before releasing him and laying back down, open and ready.

And Link, still relatively clueless but willing to try, shifted between Rhett’s legs and finally, _finally_ undid his fly. His jeans were damp from pressing into Rhett after tasting him, and his fingers were slippery against his buttons and fly. He fumbled, nervous but eager, to retrieve his cock, but he did, and then held it, hard and neglected, in his hand. Without even a second to spare, Link shifted his jeans low on his hips and tugged himself, lube in one hand, cock in the other. He could feel Rhett’s eyes on him, waiting, as he squeezed a large amount of lube into one hand, and he flushed a deeper red as he began to slick up his cock.

Link wasn’t exactly certain of what he was doing, as this was his first time with a man and only his second time having sex at all, but he knew more than anything that they needed lube, lots of it. So he stroked himself until he glistened, wet and shiny, before he shifted again between Rhett’s thighs. He bit his lip and pressed the head against Rhett’s equally slick rim, not daring to meet Rhett’s eyes as he steadied himself and pushed.

Breaching slow, Link sunk, pressing in and in until he was seated tight and full inside. It felt absolutely incredible, like he had slipped in where he belonged, like Rhett was right where he was meant to be - under Link. “F-fuck…” Link whispered.

Rhett was back to that hot tense bristle, this time gritting his teeth and breathing shallow. He said nothing.

“Are you okay?” Link asked, terrified that he’d hurt him.

* * *

At the sound of his voice, Rhett relaxed and peeked from under his damp brow. He’d been squeezing Link’s biceps, his body taut and stressed, and looked up at him now from a very vulnerable position, though he felt nothing but safe and cherished. The sun had truly risen now and was bright and golden against Link’s bare skin, and he looked down at Rhett with tender love and worry in his blue eyes, gleaming angelic, halo of soft lavender around him. Rhett blinked and shifted to kiss Link’s hand, Link then moving it to cup his cheek. Rhett looked again, nearly welling up at how amazing he felt. “I’m okay,” he said, voice small and trapped in his chest. “I’m wonderful.”

Link leaned down and kissed him then, cradling his head and sweeping the pad of his thumb over the shell of his ear. This kiss was soft and reassuring, lingering just a moment, lips swollen and dry, then Link was pulling back and pressing his hips flat, cock nudging deeper.

Rhett tightened and groaned, not because it was incredibly painful, but it was a stretch, a beautiful burn, just stinging evidence that Link was thick and Rhett was tight. It felt right, though, to have Link inside him, filling him up. He wanted it for so long, imagined it night after night, oftentimes attempting to replicate with his fingers, and now it was here, Link was here, deep and slick inside him, and just a thread away from fucking him raw.

Link put his lips together and closed his eyes, steadying himself. He then slowly pulled back his hips, cock sliding just inches, before pressing in again. It was slow and easy and wet, and Rhett breathed in time as the slick lubricant worked between them and made lewd noises as Link moved. Rhett watched Link for a moment, the disheveled, lusty state of him driving him wild, before he lay back and relaxed against the bed.

With Link’s hands on his hips, cock inside him, Rhett let the comfortable heat take him away. His skin was flushed and tingling, breath tight in his chest, heartbeat a present, rhythmic thud, and the feeling between his legs was indescribable. Link was thick and hot, wide and stretching him to every limit, but still absolutely perfect, each rub against his insides sparking pleasure low in his stomach. Rhett reached for Link blindly, feeling the solid body bend forward and meet his hands with soft, warm skin. Rhett touched whatever was there, Link’s biceps, perhaps, as he continue to thrust, in and out.

It was a quiet, easy moment before Rhett could hear Link’s breath, ragged and tinged with grunts. He hadn’t considered how Link must have been holding out, starting out slow for Rhett’s sake. The thought made his heart warm, but the feel of Link inside him was too good to be careful, and Rhett peeked through his lashes and issued a command.

“Link,” he said, attentive blue eyes meeting him, grounding him, “harder.”

Link’s sharp Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly. “Okay.”

Rhett spread his thighs wider and wiggled his hips. Link drew back, quick this time, and snapped his pelvis flat. The movement sent heat through Rhett’s body, and he twitched. “Yeah,” he said. “Yes.”

Link did it again. He tightened his grip, fingernails curling against Rhett’s skin, and began thrusting again, harder, faster. Quickly, Link developed a pace, rocking against body, shifting them on the bed. Rhett watched a beautiful crease form between Link’s thin brows, pink lips parting as he let out a breathless gasp. The sight of it made Rhett’s stomach coil, but he couldn’t look away. This time, he kept his grey-green gaze on Link - his face, his shoulders, his tattoo, his stomach, his thrusting hips - and soon found himself breathing hard.

Working his body, Link let himself go, leaning over Rhett and taking his neck in his mouth, pushing harder and harder, still maintaining that pulsing rhythm. Rhett tipped his head to give Link more neck to kiss, suckle at, before nudging back to seek his mouth. Link obliged, kissing Rhett with his tongue, a feeling Rhett would never tire of. While rocking Rhett’s body beneath him, Link suckled on his bottom lip, pulling back so a string of saliva hung between their mouths. Rhett writhed and huffed, suddenly overcome.

Link rose up and held his body firm, fucking him hard, snapping his hips so quick that Rhett could see the shadows flash against his trunk, the dark thatch of hair at his pelvis peeking before it pressed flat against his groin. And Rhett’s cock, untouched, went sticky at the tip against his stomach, bouncing as Link rammed into him. At this point, the breath trapped in Rhett’s lungs began to escape in the form of gasps and moans. With brows furrowed, he made a myriad of pleasured noises, at which Link grumbled and smiled.

“You sound so hot,” he said.

Rhett could only moan in response, high pitched and whiny. Sweat formed on his brow, and he balled the blankets in his fists, grinding his hips down to meet Link’s pelvis, bouncing himself on Link’s cock, giving just as good as he got. They were two bodies meeting in one bed, two friends, two hearts, and two lovers.

_We’ve been making shades of purple out of red and blue._

Link reached up to grip Rhett’s shoulder, pinning him down against the bed, and angled himself to fuck harder, hit deeper. The slick wetness had caught up with them now, and Link was able to fuck Rhett just like he wanted, hard and good and sloppy. A deep crimson blush spread from Rhett’s chest, up his neck, and into his face as Link began to grunt. He kept him there for a good moment, a perfect pace, bed swaying with the weight of two kings, Rhett’s long body stretching beneath him, hot skin and racing heart. The press of Link against him, his body, the pleasure, had Rhett’s eyes rolling back in his head, drool pooling on his tongue. He was gone, absolutely, ground in this moment, here, in the bed, as if in a dream come to life.

Now, as much as he wanted to be present, take all of Link’s cock like a champ, his creative, philosophical mind began to wander, not out of boredom, but sentiment, remembering one of many times in which he fell in love with Link.

They were in high school, junior year, and standing at the lockers. Link had just gotten a haircut and looked handsome as hell with his new chiseled jaw, and Rhett looked down at him, cheeks appled and eyes full of love. Link was blathering on about something pointless when he looked across the hall at one of the girls they’d both been eyeing. At this point in their lives, girls were new and exciting, and they were down to explore anything “the fairer sex” had to offer, though Rhett’s priority was, and always would be, Link.

“Look at her,” Link had said, bitterness on his tongue. Amber threw her head back and laughed, a tall, square-faced boy towering over her, arm smoothly propped against the lockers, long, band t-shirt torso stretched handsomely. Rhett watched as he looked from her face to her cleavage with the same lusty intent Rhett often gave Link. Amber smiled prettily and put her hand on his chest and rose on her tip-toes to kiss him.

He remembered feeling envious, but he didn’t know why. It wasn’t that he wanted Amber, well, not really, it was that he wanted whatever Amber had that he didn’t, which, reflecting now, was both Link’s admiration and a beautiful boy she could kiss whenever she fancied. Rhett studied them a moment longer, particularly the boy’s suave moves, hand going to the small of her back, before he turned his attention back to Link. Link was still watching her, pink in his cheeks.

As students passed idly through the halls, Rhett shifted, raising his arm up against the locker and leaning coolly, paralleling Amber’s beau. He cleared his throat, and Link turned back to him. His eyes went wide as he dropped them down Rhett’s form, and then he laughed, big white smile warming Rhett’s small heart. “Rhett!” he said, playfully batting his chest.

Rhett just smiled and smiled, smitten.

“Rhett!” Link said again. “Rhett!”

And then Rhett was back, sixteen-year-old Link’s voice deepening, going rough, blending with that of this Link, the Link that was wrecking him, working his body hard. Rhett could still feel himself smiling, the same cheeks bunched up and pink.

This Link wasn’t smiling, though, he was concentrating, brows knit and swollen mouth slack. “Rhett,” he gasped.

“Link,” Rhett said back, realizing now that Link had fucked him so good as he lost himself in memory that his cock had reddened, stickiness now evident against his stomach. The pleasure, which had been a beautiful hum, came back full force, hot and intense.

Rhett barely had time to ground himself fully before Link was sweeping his hands down his long legs, taking him by the ankles, and hoisting them over his shoulders. He inched forward, settling Rhett’s legs on either side of his head, holding him there as he swiveled his hips to fuck him better.

Rhett whined. The new position lifted his tailbone off the bed and pressed Link deeper inside him. Rhett scrabbled for something to hold onto, losing his breath once again.

Link held him there as long as he could, thrusting hard, kissing the tops of Rhett’s feet and ankles, before he leaned forward, bending Rhett in half. He breathed hot in his ear, “You feel so fucking good,” before he released Rhett’s legs and put his hands on his waist. Rhett crossed his ankles around Link’s neck as Link swept his arms underneath him, muscles tightening. Then they were pressed, skin to skin, pressure still building beautifully.

With a kiss to Rhett’s forehead, Link then surprised him again by lifting him as best he could and rolling over. Rhett unhooked his legs as Link lay on his back, pressing his knees at either side of him, sitting upright.

The position had switched, but the power was still matched, and Link put his hands on Rhett’s chest, fingertips pressed soft against the inked skin, as Rhett began to ride him.

This time, Rhett was in control. He could gauge how deep he sunk, at what pace he rocked. This being the case, he decided to slow, bring their hot lust back to a simmer. He rocked his hips, grinding down, sinking onto Link’s cock, easy and tender.

And fuck, if Link didn’t look fantastic under him. His eyes were dark and half-lidded, hair stuck to the sweat on his forehead, bottom lip trapped between white teeth, as he swept his hands over Rhett’s thighs and watched him. The feel of Link inside him hadn’t faded, even as he slowed, as now Rhett could grind deep and feel every wonderful inch of him - the solidity, the heat, the ridge of his head as it nudged against that perfect spot. Throwing his head back, Rhett squeezed his thighs and bounced on his knees, an even push and pull. It was incredible, obviously, and with a filthy smirk, Rhett realized it was fun, too. It was fun to have Link like this, different than any of their adventures, but just as thrilling, just as good.

He raked his fingernails down Link’s chest, red lines in their wake, as he gasped, “Yeah, yeah, _God,_ yeah.”

“Yeah,” Link said back.

Rhett, now wanting to get on with it, rocked faster, leaving Link’s chest to touch himself, sweeping his hands down over his thighs, up his torso, brushing his nipples. Feeling brave and sexy, he put on a show as he sank down onto Link’s cock. Link watched him.

And Link, who’d always been chatty, now had nothing to say, as his breath was taken by the sight of Rhett enjoying himself immensely, pinching his own nipples and snaking a hand down his front. He just looked on, blue eyes glazed with lust, as he reached out for Rhett’s cock, beating him to it, and took it firmly. Rhett made a noise somewhere between a whine and a grunt as Link began to tug him, smearing the stickiness down the length and back up, foreskin sliding easily against his palm.

Rhett closed his eyes and leaned into the touch, caught somewhere between two separate sensations, suspended, hips rocking of their accord. The pleasure, which had been building from the start, now roared with newfound intensity as Link touched him, and Rhett realized with bittersweet relief that orgasm was approaching fast. He loved fucking Link, and he’d do it for the rest of his life, but at this current moment, he hadn’t showered or eaten, as he’d been with Link, in the same bed, since the night before, and one man could only handle so much stimulation. Release needed to come. He needed to come.

“Link…” Rhett rasped, bouncing hard, chasing the rising climax.

“On your stomach,” Link ordered, smacking Rhett’s ass.

Rhett obeyed, sliding off Link’s cock. He felt empty and cold in the moment it took him to shove the lube-soiled comforter off the bed and lay himself down, but then Link was back, crawling over him, pressing him down, reaching between their bodies and nudging the head of his cock against Rhett’s red, wet, sloppy rim. He teased him for a moment, just rubbing, sliding his cock between Rhett’s cheeks, before he breathed hot, took Rhett’s ear between his teeth, and slipped back inside. Rhett arched his back, arms going under his pillow, and rut his own needy cock against the bed, gasping his approval.

Link then got straight to work, pinning him there with all his weight, reaching to spread his cheeks apart. Rhett buried his blushing face in his pillow as he felt Link shudder. “Look at you,” he said, seemingly over his awed silence. “Look at my cock inside you.”

Rhett spiked with heat and moaned, rim stretching as Link spread his cheeks wider. He then heard Link spit, wetness dripping where Link’s cock disappeared inside him. Link rubbed it in with his thumb, or that’s what it felt like, as Rhett was squeezing his eyes shut, biting his bicep, trying desperately to hold out a moment longer.

Link, satisfied, then began thrusting again, leaning to kiss Rhett’s shoulders. “I’m going to make you come,” he said, lips brushing Rhett’s skin.

“Please,” Rhett husked.

So that’s what Link did. He pinned Rhett down by two firm hands at the small of his back and fucked him hard, milking every last moan. When Rhett began to squirm and shudder, Link reached under him for his cock and enclosed his fist around it, squeezing, letting Rhett rut into him.

It was only a few moments after that, hard, intense pleasure, both rock gods grunting, living up to the sex they sang about. Rhett arched his hips off the bed, Link tugging him as he fucked deep, bed ramming Rhett’s bedroom wall, chipping paint. Link drilled him so well, actually, that he knocked a notch in Rhett’s bedpost. He earned it, though, as Rhett had made him a line in a song. It was only fair.

And it was just as fair when Link bit Rhett’s shoulder and thrusted him into oblivion. Rhett’s body sparked with heat, everything between his thighs making him drool against his pillow, pressure building and building until he was trembling, writhing beneath Link’s body. Link held on, pumped hard, as Rhett’s orgasm wracked through him. He squirmed, moaning desperately, thighs quivering, as his insides locked Link down, cock pulsing in his hand. He went tight and hot as he climaxed, pleasure at its peak, and shot come over Link’s fingers, dripping down and onto the bed.

Link clamped his teeth into his skin and followed quick, continuing to fuck him as his muscles went taut and he came, spending deep and sticky inside him. Rhett could feel him shaking, along with the wetness spilling deep into him, and was helpless as Link slowed to a stop. Both of them still trembling, Link released Rhett’s skin, bite mark going white then red, and kissed his neck. He waited a moment, breathing slow, calm, before he collapsed on top of him.

They rested, still humming, little shocks of pleasure as Rhett’s cock nudged against the damp sheets. Link’s skin was warm and humid with sweat atop him, and each heavy breath lifted them just mere centimeters, hearts racing in time. Link hadn’t yet taken his cock out, as he was too tired, so they just lay, heated bodies cooling and prickling as a breeze whisked in from the open window.

Rhett had never felt so satisfied. Here he was, sated and buzzing in the afterglow after having just been fucked thoroughly by the love of his life. He had no plans to go anywhere, though tried his best not to fall back asleep.

_Your touch, my comfort, and my lullaby._

It was another peaceful moment until Link finally roused and pulled his soft cock from Rhett’s body. Rhett could feel a mix of lube and semen drip down over his rim as he did, and it was incredibly lewd but wonderful all the same. Link then returned to him, laying beside him and shuffling in. Rhett weakly turned on his side and embraced him, smelling the sweat and sex in his hair and kissing his forehead.

“Hey,” he whispered.

“Hey.”

This was a needed confirmation that they were still here, together, under the changing sky. Things would never be as they were before, pining best friends, but neither of them minded. They had waited and wished for this single moment all of their adult lives, and now that it was here, they had no plans to go back.

Link was the first to confirm this. “So…” he started. “What are we?”

Rhett sighed. He wanted the moment to go unsaid, quiet, but he knew Link had a tendency to be anxious, even now, and he held him tighter. “Let’s just be us,” he said, voice low. “Just you and me. Like it’s always been. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Resting then, comfortable and safe, Rhett let his mind wander once again. He went through their entire history, from meeting in first grade in detention, up through elementary school, middle school, and high school, and onto college, two best friends, now roommates, who started a band with two other guys and struggled through grimy little bars ’til they finally caught a break. They then shot to stardom, somehow, playing shows with all the heart they’d had when small, girls screaming for them from masses below the stage, purple, blue, and pink light sweeping ‘round the arena as each new song brought them closer to their devoted fans. And it was their fans who mistook them for a couple, who saw what was there even when they didn’t, who held out hope and started an online revolution that seeped into the pages of every teen magazine, eventually even catching the eye of the _Rolling Stone._ Rhett and Link then felt the butt of the public eye, lying to both themselves and their following that there was nothing going on. They stepped back, took a moment for themselves, and suddenly found themselves in a fight about it. After a tense, lonely moment, Rhett fell into songwriting and tried to win Link back with a serenade. A chase through the hallway and a flurry of kisses later, and here they were, more sound than they’d been in their twenty years of friendship.

They took what they wrote songs about, the golden worlds of punk love, and made it their own. Nothing quite like their story had ever been written before, even as they tried to capture it, but they didn’t care. The true ballad lived between them, beating in their hearts as they lay together, sure that this was the start of something new and the continuation of something beautiful.

Any God or deity which might have looked down at them in that moment would see two tender souls finally at ease, sure that there would be plenty of storms to come, but ready to brave them all. They had each other, brothers, friends, and lovers, and it was all that mattered. Everything, from this point out, would be fine. It would all be fine.

Rhett was deep in memory of a smiling Link in the back of a pickup truck, rolling North Carolina hills glowing sunset pink behind him, when Link shifted in his arms and brought him back.

“I’m so in love with you,” he whispered, the most honest and pure Rhett had ever heard him.

With blooming love in his heart, Rhett kissed both his cheeks and then his forehead before he breathed him in and said it back, meaning it more than anything he’d ever said. “I’m in love with you too, Link.”

Link snuggled in, pure and small where he’d once been powerful and erotic, and pressed his lips against Rhett’s clavicle. Rhett closed his eyes, smiling softly. He was at peace.

* * *

Three days later, after they’d finally showered, eaten, washed Rhett’s sheets and blankets, and left his stuffy bedroom, the sentiment was still the same. Now, knowing the mutual romantic love between them, they went back to flirty friends, albeit almost a thousand times gayer.

As Rhett made them sandwiches in the kitchen, where once Link would linger in the doorway and wish to embrace him, he now could, sneaking up behind him and wrapping his arms around his waist and pressing his face between his shoulder blades. When Link was down in the studio couch room, songwriting, Rhett was completely allowed to wander in and distract him, move his coffee and papers and press him against the low table, giving him, just like he’d promised, what he was owed. And when they both remembered who they were and what they did for a living, they’d drive up to the mountains and sit on Link’s rock, smoking joints, eyes on the stars, hands pressed warm between their hips. And finally, when the three days of hiding were up and they’d fucked in every way possible as much as they could, they called up Mike and Jason.

They arranged a band meeting at Mike’s house, not yet ready to invite anyone over as their place smelled too much like sex and weed, and drove there like a goddamn couple, fingers entwined in Link’s lap as Rhett drove, favorite rockbands pumping through the stereo.

When they arrived, they were put-together and calm, though they’d spent nearly ten minutes making out in the car. Their hands were lonely at their sides, but they weren’t yet ready to tell anyone, as they wanted to revel in their secret as long as they could.

Mike and Jason were sitting in the living room, drinking cold beers with a stack of magazines and an ashtray on the coffee table, when Rhett and Link found them. Jason gave a salute from the couch, reddened eyes and lopsided smile, though Mike stood. He crossed over to them quickly.

“Haven’t heard from you in a hot minute,” he grumbled, folding his arms and looking between them. “Have you worked everything out?”

Rhett and Link assumed he was talking about the fight, which seemed lifetimes ago. Grinning, Link looked to Rhett and cocked his head. Rhett smiled back knowingly.

“Yeah,” Link said. “We worked it out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~ THE END ~
> 
> HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!
> 
> And holy shit!! It's done!!
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who read this and encouraged me over the long seven months it took me to write it!
> 
> As I'm majoring in creative writing, I often have to prioritize my weekly short story, play, and poetry assignments before leisure writing, which is why I'd go about a month between updates. I'm sorry for that, but like... I gotta get that degree lmao
> 
> Anyway, sorry not sorry that this chapter is massive, hopefully the smut didn't drag out! Though I do think this was the longest sex scene I've ever written, and I don't know how to feel about that.
> 
> If you enjoyed this fic, please follow me on [tumblr](http://lovelyrhink.tumblr.com), check out [my other works](http://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonwinter/works), and hit up my [headcanons](http://lovelyrhink.tumblr.com/tagged/headcanons)! 
> 
> Thanks for reading :)
> 
> **September 2017 edit** Pssst go read my [Farmboy!Rhett and Sorcerer!Link AU](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11102727/chapters/24774066) next :)


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